


Blues Won't Haunt You

by darkdecay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexual Sam Winchester, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Cunnilingus, F/F, F/M, Female Sam Winchester, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Masturbation, Orgasm Denial, Original Character(s), POV Alternating, Pre-Canon, Running Away, Semi-Public Sex, Sibling Incest, Slow Burn, Universe Alteration, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wincest - Freeform, brief domestic violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 14:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18122567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkdecay/pseuds/darkdecay
Summary: When John gets Dean severely injured on a hunt, Sam decides she's had enough. She gets Dean in the impala while their dad is out, grabs what she can, and gets herself and Dean as far away from John—and the life he wanted them to lead—as she can.Edit:On hiatus until May 25th





	1. Turn Your Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John will be in this series very little, and I hate to lean into him as the bad guy, because I really love John. But the fic needs what it needs to set it in motion, and in this case that was shitty-dad-John. Also I'm sure the tags will change as the story progresses. I've got a few chapters written, but I don't really know where this is going, haha. The rating and title will probably change as well at some point (once I think of a title).
> 
> Edit 3/18/19  
> Title and chapter titles are taken from the song Life is a Highway (Tom Cochrane, NOT Rascal Flatts), at least until I run out of lyrics

John burst into the small motel, helping Dean to the queen size bed closest to the door. "Sam, help your brother! I'm going to get-" the door slammed closed before John could finish his sentence.  
  
Sam rushed to Dean, who was covered in blood, thick gashes torn in his shirt. He looked about a minute away from passing out, as if his consciousness were a stream of water he meant desperately to hold onto, slipping quickly through his fingers.  
  
Sam saw his blood sluggishly pumping, spreading further onto his ruined henley. _It used to be a dark grey_ , she thought, then wondered why she would think such an inane thing when Dean needed her focused, needed her help. She tried to get him standing, to move him to the bathroom where the lighting was better and she'd be able to see to stitch him up properly. In all her sixteen years she'd never seen Dean so pale, so— _don't think it_ —so near death. She'd thought it and now she couldn't get it out of her head. If she didn't hurry, if she didn't do something, he'd die right here, in yet another shitty motel, in a long line of shitty motels, the ever changing backdrop of their lives.  
  
She got Dean onto the toilet seat, trying to angle him in such a way as to not hurt him any further, but to get the best view of the gashes in his side. They were deep and still hadn't stopped bleeding, and who knows how long he and dad had been on the road before they got here. She was grateful for the unflattering florescent lights of the dingy bathroom; it had always made her look worse somehow—gaunt and unattractive—than other mirrors seemed to, but at least she could see to help Dean.  
  
Dean had passed out. She ran back to the room they all shared and grabbed the needle and sutures. She had hoped her father's unfinished sentence had been something about grabbing painkillers for Dean, the strong kind they kept for emergencies, maybe he’d kept them in the impala this time. But John still wasn't back and she had to do something.  
  
She started in on stitching Dean up. She tried to be quick but careful, knowing that he needed the bleeding stopped as soon as possible, but lousy stitching could do more harm than good. The longer she stitched the angrier she got. Dad had dragged Dean on another stupid mission, had gotten him hurt and where was he? He couldn't even be bothered to finish his sentence, to let her know where he was going or what he was doing, before he left his son dying in a motel room with only his sister to piece him back together. This wasn't even the first time it had happened, only the worst.  
  
Sam finished the last stitch, and disinfected it, causing Dean to cry out before falling still again. Then she set to work cleaning up the blood all over him, and she bandaged up the wounds as much as she dared. She carefully pulled a clean shirt over Dean's body, one of John's since Dean had recently had what she thought must be his last growth spurt, and most of his shirts were too tight now. That was when she heard John entering the motel room. She walked out of the bathroom to confront him.  
  
"Where were you?" she hissed, trying not to wake Dean. She had gotten so worked up, seeing Dean so hurt and her father nowhere to be found. And to top it all off, it didn't look like he'd brought anything with him, no painkillers, no nothing.  
  
"I had to make sure it was really dead, and burn it, before it regenerated and hurt someone else, and don't you take that tone with me." For the life of her Sam couldn't even remember what they'd been hunting with all the commotion, and her worry about Dean. Her father had said it was routine, but clearly it hadn't been. She couldn't find it in her to care about what it was, or who else it might hurt. She could only think of Dean, and of her father, who'd left the only good thing in either of their lives, dying in a dirty motel bathroom.  
  
"What about Dean? What about it hurting _him_? He could be dying and you didn't do anything to help him except bring him to me!" part of her anger was directed at herself, for not being able to help Dean any further, but most of it was directed at John. She'd meant to keep it down, so as not to disturb Dean, but her voice got louder as she spoke "Isn't he worth more than some hypothetical stranger?"  
  
"Dean can take care of himself!" John's voice rose to match hers and he took a step forward.  
  
Sam didn't move an inch. She was furious. She'd hated this life for so long, but she'd never hated it for anything more than selfish reasons, the desire to be safe, to focus on school, to be less of a freak. But now, with Dean's life on the line, in a way it never had been to such an extent, she didn't want to stay here one more minute.  
  
"Well clearly he can't or he wouldn't be bleeding out in the bathroom!" She was shouting now. "His life is more important than your stupid fucking mission! My life is more important! None of it will bring your wife back, but it's going to get your son killed!"  
  
John hit her. Right across the face. He'd never done that before, and from the look on his face he knew right away that he had really fucked up. But he was just as stubborn as she was.  
  
"Don't ever speak about your mother that way."  
  
If anything Sam was angrier than before and she couldn't stop herself. "It's true though," she said quietly, "she's gone. And running Dean into the ground won't change that. And you know I'm right."  
  
John looked like he might hit her again, but he just backed away. "Get your brother cleaned up and in bed. Pack your shit, and his, we leave at dawn." Then he turned and walked out the door, slamming it as he went.  
  
She waited for the sound of the impala starting, but never heard it. She peeked out the window and it looked like John was walking in the direction of the bar a couple of blocks away.  
  
Before she could think too hard about what she was doing, she rummaged around in John's bag. She found and pulled out the emergency pain pills, all the cash she could find, two credit cards, and her mothers wedding rings. She put the rings and the money in the pockets of her jean shorts. They had a high waist and therefore deeper pockets than the last pair she'd owned, so she wasn't worried about them falling out. She took two pills and a glass of water to the bathroom.  
  
"Dean? Dean I need you to take these,” she shook Dean awake as gently as she could. He peered up at her through his dark eyelashes, eyes open only a sliver. "Here, stick out your tongue," he complied, and she placed the pills on his tongue and held the glass of water up to his lips, "and swallow. Good." She patted his cheek and combed her fingers through his sweaty hair as his eyes closed again. The pills would make him drowsy soon, and loopy. She had to get him in the car before they kicked in all the way, but she needed his guard down enough that he wouldn't question her.  
  
Hurriedly, she packed up everything she and Dean owned, plus two bottles of whiskey that were used to disinfect as often as they were drunk. Dean wasn't old enough to buy liquor yet and it's not like John needed any more alcohol.  
  
The whole ordeal took only a few minutes, and she figured it was time to get Dean in the impala. She went to the bathroom.  
  
"Dean. I need you to come with me, okay?" she tapped his cheek lightly and got her arm around his shoulder. "Come on now, I'm going to lift."  
  
Dean wasn't very responsive, but he helped where he was able. Thankfully John had parked right outside the motel door. It was difficult to get Dean in the backseat without exacerbating his injured side, but she managed. She kept thinking of what she would say to John if he decided that seeing if Dean was okay was more important than getting a drink, and showed up from the bar right now. When she was packing their bags it was _because you told me to_. When she was digging through his bags it was _for pain medicine for Dean_. Now she supposed she'd say it was to take Dean to the emergency room. She got him in and closed the door.  
  
Back in the motel she grabbed their bags, with the money, guns and liquor, and all of their belongings, the keys to the impala that John had left on the table, and said a quick goodbye to the shitty motel room that still had Dean's blood staining the bathroom floor. She rushed to the trunk, keeping an eye out for John coming back, but the parking lot was empty. She threw the bags in the trunk, got in the front seat, started the car, and drove away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos are soooo appreciated if you liked it! I should have chapter 2 up within the next week.


	2. All Night Long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While on the road, Sam makes plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help myself, here's chapter 2

Sam looked at Dean in the rear view mirror. He was asleep, though clearly still in pain. She wasn't supposed to give him any more pain meds for six hours and they'd been driving for five. He had another hour before she could give him his next dose and he already sounded like he needed it. She hadn't stopped since she'd put the car in drive. She needed to pee. And they didn't have any food or water, and Dean definitely needed water to replace all of the blood that he had lost. She'd have to stop soon.

They'd been in Illinois and she wanted to go west. Maybe to California or Oregon. She'd liked those places, but she'd never been vocal about it. Maybe John wouldn't think of that as the first place to look for her. She wondered what Dean would say when he woke up. _If he woke up_. She'd tried to keep that thought from her mind for the last two hundred and fifty miles of interstate. She _couldn't_ think of it. She really should stop soon. 

She'd been going south, hoping she could throw John off their scent by maxing out the credits cards, before starting in on the cash she'd grabbed and heading west. She only had about three hundred dollars from John's bag and that wouldn't get them far. She'd never told anyone, not even Dean, but she'd saved everything she could since the time she was eleven and opened a bank account. She'd hoped it would be a college fund, but even as she'd been adding to it she knew it was just a pipe dream. She'd saved lunch money, money that Dean would give her from time to time from his pool hustling, she'd babysat and mowed lawns the last several summers. She only had about two grand, and she was going to have to make it last. Even if Dean chose to stay with her, and not drag her back to John, he wouldn't be able to do much of anything for weeks while he healed.

_If he healed_.

She really needed to pee. She really needed to get Dean some water. 

She pulled over at the next exit that had signs for gas, and pulled into a tiny gas station that looked like it had seen better days around the time her dad had been born. 

_John._

She didn't want to call him her dad anymore, even in her own head. What kind of dad left his son to die while going back out to kill a monster, and then came back and hit his other kid in the face? Her face was bruised and her lip was bloody. She hoped the cashier didn't say anything or call the police. She'd filled out last summer, in all the right places, but she was sure someone would have to be a bit too motivated to really buy that she was eighteen instead of her actual sixteen. 

She walked into the gas station, where a bored looking man with caramel colored skin glanced up briefly before his eyes fell on her bloody lip. 

_Damn it._

She busied herself, getting as much bottled water as she could carry, and what passed for healthy snacks in a store like this. The best she could do was beef jerky and some fruit in little plastic cups. She also grabbed a large coffee before heading to the register. She should be exhausted after driving all night, but between her brain racing and the getaway—for lack of a better word—she was firing on all cylinders. But, she still didn't want to find herself exhausted in a few hours with nowhere to sleep. There was no way she could just pull off to the side of the road and catch a few hours of sleep with Dean in his condition. She knew as soon as she used this card it was very likely John would be hunting them down. Hopefully no one he knew would be in the area that he could call to chase her and Dean down _for_ him. The sooner she maxed out these cards the better. 

"Find everything okay?" The man at the register asked. His name tag read _Shahzad_. Sam flashed a smile she'd heard someone at school refer to as "disarming", in the hopes that he would think that she was great and everything was fine and he didn't need to call the police. Of course that was two schools ago—or was it three?—and she wasn't really sure what they had meant by that. 

"Fine thanks," Sam said, and Shahzad went a little pink in the cheeks. Maybe disarming was a good word for it after all. He rung her up and gave her her total. She thanked him and brought her purchases out to the car. She put everything in the front seat, kicking herself for buying beef jerky. Dean couldn't stay awake long enough to chew it, and her jaw was too sore. But she had been distracted, trying not to do anything suspicious, and she was too wired to think clearly. _Whatever._ She sighed and started filling up the tank.

She did some mental math while the tank filled. If she went east and they stayed the night in a motel maybe John would think they were settling in the southeast. She was such an idiot! She could max the cards faster by asking for cash back. She finished filling the tank and went back into the gas station. She picked up a few energy bars and when Shahzad rang her up for the second time she handed him the credit card and said, "And can I get three hundred dollars in cash back as well?" Shahzad looked at her like he wasn't sure if he was supposed to do that. It's possible he didn't want to empty the register first thing in the morning, she thought. Or perhaps because it was so early there simply wasn't that much _in_ the register. 

Just as she thought he would refuse—and no doubt bring the law down on their asses—he looked out to the impala, looked to her, and looked towards the _employees only_ door, before pressing a key on the register, causing the tray to spring forward. He counted out three hundred dollars and handed it to her, and his eyes told her he hoped she was okay, but not enough that he wanted to involve himself in her affairs. "Have a nice day," he said, and it was clear from his tone that he wished she wouldn't come back this time. 

She put as much sincerity into her _real_ smile as should could, and thanked him again.

Sam had almost an hour before she was supposed to give Dean his pills, but he needed to drink as much water as she could get down his throat. She didn't want to push her luck with Shahzad though, and trying to force an injured man to drink water in his parking lot was probably pushing. So she drove a couple of miles away from the gas station, down a dirt road that looked fairly deserted, before turning off the car, grabbing a bottle of water from the pack she'd bought, and climbing into the floor of the back seat. 

"Dean? Dean, can you sit up a bit for me?" She nudged him awake and tried to get him into a sitting position. He blinked at her and squinted in the early morning light. 

"Sammy?", his voice was all gravel. "Where are we?" The pain pills would keep him groggy enough that he probably wouldn't push if Sam just deflected. 

"Shhh, just drink as much of this as you can and I'll let you get back to sleep," Sam whispered. 

She put the bottle up to his lips as Dean gulped. She tried to keep him up and awake long enough to drink the whole bottle, but he only managed to finish about three quarters of it before he was out again. She lay him back down against the seat as gently as she could and kissed his forehead. She carefully put her arm against his side and tucked her face into his neck and started to cry. 

Her rage and planning and adrenaline had kept her from thinking too hard about Dean. He looked so small in their dads— _John's_ —shirt and he was still so pale. As much as she tried not to think about what would happen if he really—if the worst happened—if he got _worse_. Sam didn't know what she would do if something happened to Dean. She was still a minor, who knows how long she could kick around on her own before social services caught up with her. And she would die before she went back to John. Actually, she'd probably just die if Dean did.

She hated how over the top and dramatic that sounded, even in her own head, but Dean was everything to her. He'd taken care of her since she was born. Her first memories were of Dean, and all of the important ones since. He'd tried to be everything for her—mother, father, brother, friend. And for the last couple of years she'd wanted even more, though she could never let him, or anyone else know about that. And now she was crying about what an awful person she was for wanting him like that. She hated herself. She'd tried to blame it on their upbringing, tried to tell herself it was only natural to fixate on the one good, stable thing in her life, but it had never worked before so why should it start now? 

She sat back on her knees and wiped her tears. This line of thought always sent her into a deep spiral of self loathing and she didn't have time for that now. Dean needed her, and for all she knew John already knew where they were and had rented or stolen a car to come and find them. 

She crawled into the front seat, careful not to jostle Dean. She put the car in drive and made her way back to the interstate. She used the drive to think about where they would go and what they would do when they got there. She tried to be a healthy mix of realistic and optimistic. She wouldn't get anywhere if she let daydreams and perfect scenarios take over her mind, but she needed to stay optimistic or she'd end up in another one of her self loathing moods. 

If they stayed the night farther south and just slightly to the east, it could look like they were headed towards the Gulf. Then, when she'd maxed out the cards—preferably after a night in a motel, a grocery run at an _actual_ store, and getting any remaining cash back that she could—they could head west. It would be a long drive from here to the Northwest, but Dean looked like he'd need a lot of rest, and she had a lot to plan between now and when they arrived. She could find a place that rented by the month, dip into the money she'd saved if there wasn't enough cash left by the time they got there. Surely she could find a job as a waitress, she was pretty enough, in a plain sort of way, and she'd been conning people long enough at John's command, she might as well put those skills to use for herself. She could make enough in tips to keep them fed and sheltered. And in a month she'd see where they were. A lot depended on Dean. One look at the impala and he could get a job with any mechanic. _If_ he wanted to stay with her. If he didn't...well she didn't know what she would do. She'd just have to do what she could to make sure he stayed.


	3. A World Outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam heads west.

They stopped at a little motel that night. But after drinking coffee all day, and worrying about Dean, she was still wired. She'd tried to get Dean to eat something in the middle of the day, but he was difficult to keep awake. She'd have to give him more pain pills in the night, but for now she figured she might as well try to find a twenty-four hour grocery store and pick up some things so that they could hit the road early tomorrow.  
  
She was terrified that John might have known someone in the area, or someone who could make it here in the six hours she would allow herself to sleep. But a run to the store would cut into that time. After tonight though, they could start heading west, and they could take a longer break tomorrow night, where they'd pay in cash and John couldn't trace them. She'd already tossed hers and Dean's phones. They'd pick up new ones when they got where they were going.  
  
She settled Dean in, left a note saying she'd be back soon and to please not leave, or call anyone. She actually hoped he wouldn't wake because he'd be just as likely to call John as he would be to listen to her note. Then she headed to the desk to ask about grocery stores. If the clerk had seen her dragging a half-conscious man into her motel room, she didn't say anything. She had beautiful dark skin, and if Dean had been awake and well she'd probably be getting banged in a supply closet right now.  
  
The girl looked Sam over, lingering on Sam's long legs in the high waisted jean shorts, and the cropped, short sleeve t-shirt that she really had outgrown a bit. Sam felt her face warm; maybe she'd been wrong about this girl being hypothetically interested in _Dean_.  
  
"There's one right up the road on the left, you can't miss it," the girl said. Sam thanked her and opened the door to leave, noticing the girl checking out her ass as she walked away.  
  
Sam had always noticed Dean. He was beautiful. She'd been so jealous as a kid of his dark lashes, his bright green eyes, the angles of his face. But she thinks if she weren't so fucked in the head as to be attracted to him, she would probably be a lesbian. There was a girl at the school before last, a redhead named Cassie Eberman, who'd kissed her in the empty locker room after gym one day. Sam had been sweaty and disgusting from running, so it was about the least sexy she'd ever felt. But even as the air conditioning cooled her damp skin, she felt like someone had shoved hot coals inside of her when Cassie kissed her. And then as if the coals had caused her skin to shrink, like those plastic easter egg wrappers Dean bought for her one year, that suctioned to an egg when put in boiling water.  
  
Sam had never kissed anyone, but it definitely seemed like Cassie had. She had spent the few days learning everything she could from Cassie Eberman, until John pulled her out of school a week later, for a hunt three states over.

 

* * *

  
  
At the store, she picked up even more bottled water, and enough canned food to get them to the west coast, and hopefully keep them stocked up for a week or so until she found a job and could get money rolling in. She wanted to touch her savings as little as possible; it was all she had to show for her entire existence, beyond her duffle bag, which only carried some clothes, books, and weapons. If Dean chose to go back to John...she couldn't go with him. She wouldn't watch him die for a man he was so loyal to, a man who didn't deserve that loyalty.  
  
She maxed the last of the two cards by getting cash back at the register again, and loaded the groceries in the impala. There was nothing that couldn't stay in it overnight. She got back to the motel, crawled in bed carefully around Dean, reassuring herself that he was still here and breathing, and tried to catch a few hours of sleep.

 

* * *

  
  
Before the sun had risen, she woke to Dean whimpering. She rushed to get his pain pills and some water. She made him drink the whole glass and checked his wounds again. They looked awful, but they weren't red around the edges, so she was hopeful that they weren't infected. She cleaned the plasma and little bit of blood that had leaked throughout the night, and disinfected the wound again. Dean breathed heavier but made no noise and she didn't know whether to be more or less worried for the fact. She wrapped him up again and turned John's shirt inside out. Tomorrow he'd have to wear one of his own, tighter shirts, but she didn't want to make him uncomfortable in the car today because she wanted to put as much distance between them and the places she'd last used John's credit card as possible, and so they'd be driving longer today. Besides, it wasn't like anyone was going to see his bloody shirt anyway.  
  
She got Dean in the car before the meds knocked him out for a good long while, and got back on the interstate, heading west this time. As soon as they were back on the road she breathed a sigh of relief. She'd been so scared John would catch up to them because of the cards, but they'd needed to use them. She wasn't optimistic about her ability to keep them afloat if they only relied on the money she'd saved.  
  
But now that he had no way of tracking them, she found herself wondering what John _was_ doing. Was he angry? Was he regretting that he'd hit her and not cared enough for Dean's safety? Or was he glad his kids were gone so he could focus more on waging his war on the supernatural, and less on making sure his kids were alive and taken care of?  
  
She did her best to put him out of her mind. She had a lot of road between here and the coast, and the sooner she stopped thinking about John, the sooner she could get on with their new life.

 

* * *

   
  
The days passed much the same; getting Dean's wound redressed, giving him his pain pills and getting him in the car, heading west, stopping to sleep, then getting up to do it again. At this point she wasn't sure how much he needed the drugs. He was still clearly in a lot of pain, but she worried she might be giving them to him more to keep him from asking questions, and less for his pain. They were so close to California, and she wanted to be set up and stable before she had to explain to him what all had happened and her decision to take him away from John.  
  
The bruise on her face had swollen after that first full day on the road, but now it had gone down and was just an angry, blotchy purple color. Her split lip though, didn't look much better than the night John had given it to her.  
  
It took five days from leaving Illinois, but they finally ended up settling in a small town in northern California, about an hour away from the coast. She found a phone booth with an intact phone book and looked up apartments, calling them all until she found two that rented by the month and came furnished. One was out of their price range, even though it was probably the bottom shelf of apartments and it charged monthly. The other was well within their budget but only had one room left, a studio, fully furnished with a king sized bed. She looked at the impala as if she could see through the car to Dean sleeping. He'd been asleep for almost six days, and was only looking slightly better than when she'd gotten him in the car that first night. Most nights since, she'd crawled in bed with Dean even when they'd _had_ two beds. She wanted to feel him breathing through the night, terrified that he would leave her alone. One bed would be fine for now, and once he was awake maybe they could move rooms if another became available.  
  
"We'll take it," she said to the man trying to rent out the apartment.

 

* * *

  
  
When she got there and went to get the keys from the front desk, the man obviously didn't believe she was old enough to be renting an apartment, but she paid the whole month in cash, so he didn't argue. She drove around to their building before she realized that their room was on the second floor. Getting Dean up the stairs was going to be hell. She half carried, half dragged him up, as gently as she could. She had been giving him his pain meds every eight hours instead of every six, hoping he would need them less and less, especially since they were starting to run out. But after all the stairs she went ahead and gave them to him. He was fast asleep before she could leave to bring their bags in.


	4. The Brave Are Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gets a job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Below is a dumb little sketch of what I imagine the layout of the apartment to be.

Sam actually _unpacked_ their stuff, putting clothes in drawers and in the closet, putting their toiletries in the bathroom, instead of living out of their bags. This place was a dump, but it wasn't as bad as a lot of the motels and hotels that they'd stayed in over the years. And maybe it _was_ a dump, but it was hers. And Dean's. 

_Dean._

Dean was still sleeping the next morning and hadn't woken up in the night needing painkillers. She took that as a good sign, but she was going out and didn't know how long she'd be gone, so she woke him up long enough to get him to the bathroom, get him his meds, and write her usual note saying she'd be back soon and not to call anyone.

The first thing she had to do was get her and Dean new phones. She couldn't very well fill out job applications with no call back number, and hopefully Dean would be waking up soon, and would need to get in touch with her if she was out. So she stopped and picked up two prepaid phones, keeping an eye out for hiring signs as she went. 

She was looking to find someplace that wasn't too far to walk. If Dean stayed, he'd probably need the impala, and if he didn't—well if he didn't she'd have more to worry about than the fact that she had a long walk to work. 

Sam tried a few places; a music store, a gas station, a home decor-type shop that looked like it'd been standing for about seventy years, before coming to a restaurant. It wasn't a chain as far as she could tell, but it sure looked like one. The building was new and it looked clean. None of the other places had seemed all that interested in hiring her. 

She walked in and asked to speak to the manager, lied and told them she was eighteen, and that even though she'd never waited tables, she was a fast learner. The manager, a woman in her mid to late thirties looked her up and down, judgement clear on her face. 

"Did you really think it was a good idea to show up asking for a job with no bra?" she asked, skeptically. 

Sam flushed. She'd been in a car, alone for all intents and purposes, and she hadn't thought to put one on since before John brought Dean through that motel door. She knew she was too old to go without, but she hadn't thought of it, and now that it was brought to her attention, she thought, _well why should I?_   She was embarrassed, but she didn't back down. 

"Way I see it, customers like what they she, they stay around longer to look. Buy more drinks, tip better. You get more service, I get better pay, win-win." Sam tried to look nonchalant about it, shrugged as she spoke, despite her lingering embarrassment. 

The woman looked like she might argue, but then sighed and said, "Just doesn't sit well with me, the idea of girls trying to get hired based on _those_." She looked pointedly at Sam's chest. "But you're not wrong. Come on, I'll have you follow Andy around, see if you can pick up a think or two. I'm Katie, by the way."

Katie rummaged around in a drawer in the office she'd brought Sam to, and pulled out a black apron, the kind that only covered from waist to mid thigh and had several pockets. Katie grabbed a notepad as well, from one of the shelves above, then led Sam out to meet this Andy guy.

Sam was hopeful that if she did well, this job would be hers.

 

* * *

 

Andy, as it turned out, was a girl. Petite, very pretty, with curly black hair, and a lot to say. When Katie left them, she showed Sam around the back of the restaurant, and introduced her to some of the cooks, all while chattering about anything and everything that came to her mind.

She talked so much, about her boyfriend, her family, school. She said her family was originally from Colombia, and had moved west from Florida, after a hurricane destroyed most everything they'd owned when Andy was about four years old. Andy wasn't too upset because they'd visited a handful of times since and she hated the weather.

"And people there talk so _slow_ " Andy complained, "I don't know how they ever get out everything they want to say." Andy was the fastest talker Sam had ever met, and she'd met a lot of people, in a lot of different parts of the country. She agreed with Andy about the weather though.

Sam had told Katie that her name was Eliza, so that's what Andy introduced her as. Sam figured she could only stay in one place for a month or so before she got too worried about John finding them, and using their real names would only speed up that time table. Sam had never known anyone named Eliza, or had any reason to go by it, so she figured it was as good as any other fake name she could have given.

Andy told her the basics, of greeting, getting drink orders, and then going back to take food orders. She explained that Sam had come in before the lunch rush, so there weren't many people here, but just then they heard one of the hostesses come back to tell them that Andy had a table.

She and Andy walked out to greet them, Andy giving them the short spiel that Sam—introduced as Eliza—was in training. She'd told Sam to practice writing their order down in short-hand, but that she'd be writing it down too in case Sam messed up. The customers were a couple of women in their mid to late twenties, on what looked to be a lunch date between friends. They smiled a lot and were patient with her when Andy let her take their food orders. After they had given them their drinks and were waiting on their food to finish, Andy quizzed Sam on the menu. Sam got the impression that a lot of new employees said that they were "fast learners", but actually weren't, because Andy seemed genuinely surprised when Sam retained the information she was told. Looked like all the studying John hated her devoting time to was good for something after all.

They went over the seating chart then, after going to check on the women and letting them know their food would be out soon. Sam memorized it and then she and Andy took their food out to them. Then they had another table, and another, until the first women left, and Andy split their generous tip with Sam.

"Are you sure?" she asked Andy, "I haven't even really been hired yet."

Andy laughed. "Don't worry about that, Muñeca, once I tell Katie about that memory or yours, you'll be on the payroll. And keep the tip, you were a huge help." She smiled at Sam, wiping her hands on her apron and gathering the dishes the women had left.

"Thank you!" Sam smiled back and finished helping her clear the table. Then a party of six came in, followed by another party of three. It was still early for lunch and the other waitress hadn't gotten here yet.

"You want to take that second group?" Andy asked.

Sam said sure, and made her way to their table. She took their drink orders, brought them to the table, and asked if they were ready to order. They asked her questions about the items, and she remembered most of what she'd been told, but when they asked how things tasted she didn't know what to say.

"Well a woman ordered that earlier today and it looked really good, but I haven't actually tried anything. Today is my first day," she explained.

"Really?" one woman asked. "You know so much about the menu already. Sorry for all the questions, I didn't realize that you were new. Well I'll have that then, if it looks good." The woman smiled at her and handed her menu back.

Sam could feel herself flushing; she'd had more praise from the people in this restaurant in two hours than she'd had from John in the whole of her life.

She kept taking orders and waiting tables and the next few hours passed quickly. There were a few instances that were less than stellar, like the table full of guys that stared at her tits the whole time she was at their table. If Dean had been there he would have thrown down in the middle of the restaurant. Their staring made her uncomfortable—enough that she was reconsidering her stance on bras—but then they gave her a bigger tip than she'd gotten all morning, and she decided she might want to leave her bras in the bottom of her duffel. After the tips she'd gotten this morning, she'd have enough to get Dean more pain pills when they ran out.

When the lunch crowd had died down, Katie found her talking to Andy, and asked why she'd been waiting tables by herself already, clearly unhappy that Andy had cut her loose so soon.

Andy chimed in before she could answer, "This girl has a crazy memory, every question she was asked she got right, I was listening! We only went over the menu twice and she already knows it by heart. The seating chart too."

Katie looked skeptical and asked Sam a few questions, all of which Sam got right. Katie looked pleased and surprised.

"I'll have a name tag ready for you tomorrow, and I'll add in the hours you worked today to your first paycheck. Come see me before you leave at three and we'll talk about your availability." Katie left and went back to her office.

"Told you, Muñeca!" Andy said. She'd called Sam that before, and Sam didn't know what it meant, but Andy had a smile on her face and it was said fondly, so she figured it was good. Sam smiled back, hopeful that things would turn out okay.

 

* * *

 

Dean groaned. His side felt like it was on fire. He looked around, not knowing where he was, or what day it was. He was in a room with a king sized bed, a bathroom to his left, a window with white curtains that looked like they may once have been pretty, but were now moth eaten and dingy. He saw his and Sam's clothes hanging in an open closet with a roll away door. Wherever he was, they'd been here for a while; they never bothered to unpack right away because they usually didn't know if what _looked_ like a case would turn out to be a bust, and they'd be back on the road.

He tried to roll onto his side and saw a piece of paper float from his chest to the bed. He picked it up and blinked the sleep out of his eyes before reading a note that Sam had left. She said she'd be back soon and not to call anyone. That was odd. He put the note on the bedside table, picked himself up off the bed, went to the bathroom, and lifted his shirt to look at his side in the mirror. He'd been evenly stitched back together, it looked like, and it hurt like a bitch, but didn't look infected. He crawled back into bed and fell back asleep almost immediately.

 _Sam would be back soon,_ he thought. _  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Muñeca has a couple of meanings, but in the context Andy uses it, it means "doll"


	5. Road So Rough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean have a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added Alternating POV to the tags, as well as a few others. That's what the line breaks are for. I've included them in other chapters as time or scene jumps and from this point they'll be for time, scene, or POV changes, or both. Since I haven't really switched POV before, I wanted to put it in the notes so you guys know what's up

Sam left the restaurant at three, pockets heavy with her tips from the day, and feeling lighter than she could ever remember feeling. She liked Katie, understanding that she probably had a healthy skepticism of new employees, and she really liked Andy. She talked a lot more than anyone Sam was used to, and it was refreshing; it was nice to hear someone talk so much and be so open about themselves. And it meant she didn't ask many questions about Sam.  
  
When she got back to the apartment, Dean was where she'd left him, but the note she'd left on his chest was now on the bedside table, meaning he must have woken up at least long enough to read and move it. She moved to sit on the bed next to him, feeling his forehead. He had no fever and had had no signs of infection so far. She lifted up his shirt to see how his stitches were looking.  
  
"My eyes are up here," Dean's voice was scratchy and hoarse.  
  
"Dean!" she yelped, pulling his shirt back down gently. Her face had flushed at his innocent joke hitting too close to the mark, but she was so excited to see him awake that she moved to crush him in a hug, before remembering to be careful with him. Instead, she hugged him gently, arm wrapped around his shoulder instead of his side, her face pressed into his neck.  
  
"I was so worried," she whispered.  
  
"Hey, it'll take more than a few scratches to keep me down," he said jokingly, trying to sit up.  
  
"You've been asleep almost a week now," she said, her eyes making clear how _unfunny_ she thought he was. But she helped him lean back against the wall all the same. "Do you need anything? Water? Food? Help getting to the bathroom?" she asked.  
  
"A shower", Dean said. "I _smell_ like I've been asleep for a week."  
  
Sam giggled, but she didn't love the idea of him trying to keep his injured side out of the spray of the shower. She also didn't love the idea of trying to help him out in the shower either though. Maybe they could compromise.  
  
"Yeah, you spent five days in the back seat of the impala, I can imagine. But you should probably hold off until you've healed more. Why don't I get some hot water and see if we can get you cleaned up here?" Sam asked, gesturing to the bed.  
  
Dean groaned. "I can't express how much I don't want to do that."  
  
Sam wasn't going to push. She worried, but the last thing she needed was to have to _help him_ in the shower, seeing him naked and fueling more of her disgusting fantasies. Even if Dean _was_ a little ripe after being unconscious for days, he was still pretty to look at.  
  
"Fine, but keep the bathroom door unlocked and yell if you need anything. I'm going to make some dinner," she said.  
  
Dean made a face. She knew she wasn't the best cook, but there was no need for that! Even she couldn't fuck up boxed macaroni and cheese. She held her tongue though, and helped Dean out of bed and into the bathroom. She shut the door behind her and started water to boil.

 

* * *

 

Dean felt a thousand times better after getting clean, even if it was a bitch trying to keep his right side dry in the shower. He'd thought they must have been here a while, but if he'd been out less than a week, and five of that had been spent getting...wherever they were, they couldn't have been here for more than a day. When he got out, Sam had made mac and cheese and opened a can of fruit.  
  
"Thanks," he told her, sitting carefully at the tiny table that sat half in-half out of the kitchen.  
  
"You're welcome," she said. "How do you feel?"  
  
"Like I got my guts nearly torn out and then spent five days in a car," Dean told her.  
  
Sam looked wretched at that, staring down at her bowl, food untouched.  
  
"Hey it's not your fault," he said, reaching across the table to take her hand. "I'm sure dad had a good reason for sending us driving all the way—wait where are we anyway? And what the hell happened to your face?"  
  
Sam went stiff and pulled her hand out of his. He hadn't seen her from this angle before the shower, and he'd been too out of it to notice on the ride here.  
  
"He didn't send us here," she said quietly, turning her bruised cheek away from him.  
  
"Whaddya mean, Sammy?" he asked, not understanding why they would drive five days straight unless dad had sent them ahead to get Sammy signed up for school.  
  
"I mean he doesn't _know_ we're here. I ditched our phones and the credit cards, and I got you in the car and didn't look back." She briefly looked him in the eye before looking away again.  
  
Dean was dumbstruck.  
  
"You're telling me you _kidnapped me_ and ran away?" he said, disbelief and a touch of humor in his voice. Sam flushed, but looked like she was about to argue. "And your face?" he asked softly.  
  
At that, she looked down. "He..." she trailed off.  
  
"'He' _who_?" Dean asked firmly, and louder than he'd been since waking up, wondering who the hell had layed hands on his sister and whether the guy had _lived_.  
  
"Dad," Sam said quietly, looking away, perhaps so he wouldn't see the tears in her eyes, but he saw them.  
  
" _Dad_?" Dean's voice had gotten even louder. He'd never been angry at their father; peeved now and again, sure, discontent with how he acted with Sam sometimes, but never angry, and never enough to be vocal about it. But in that instant he was afraid of what he would have done if he'd been there to see John ever hurt Sam. " _Dad_ hit you?"  
  
Sam looked like she might be sick, and she wouldn't look at him. He leaned across the table and took her chin in his hand, tilting it up toward the light. John had gotten her good, split her lip, and the whole line of her jaw on the left side was a fading purple-green color. Dean was so full of anger, he thought it might burst through his stitches and spill out onto the floor, a physical thing.  
  
"We were arguing and I brought up mom. I could tell he regretted it as soon as he did it. But then he left and I just...I packed up our shit, got you in the car and drove away." Tears had spilled over now and she was trying not to openly cry.  
  
Dean got up, walked around the table, and bent as well as he was able, to hug her. She wrapped her arms around him and that's when the dam broke and she started sobbing openly.  
  
"I was so afraid you wouldn't wake up," she said wetly into his shoulder. Dean ran his fingers through her hair.  
  
"Hey, I'm right here," he said.  
  
Sam sniffed and held him tighter. He pet her hair until she calmed enough to wipe her eyes and blow her nose. He knelt down so that he could look up at her where she sat.  
  
"He brought you in and then he left, didn't even stop to tell me where he was going, or what I should do to help you. I just stitched you up as best I could, and when he got back from making sure ' _it was dead'_ ," she said bitterly, clearly quoting dad, "he didn't even go see you. We argued and then he walked to the bar down the street." Sam sniffed, and blew her nose again.  
  
And what could Dean say to that? Besides hitting Sam, it sounded like normal John Winchester behavior.

 

* * *

 

Sam felt ridiculous. She hadn't cried when John had hit her, she had no reason to cry now. But something about having to admit to Dean—who looked up to their father—that John had hit her, just let loose the floodgates in her tear ducts. She relived every awful thing about that night; the pit in her stomach that hadn't really let up until she saw Dean get out of bed on his own today, the worry that John would find them and drag them on his next hunt. The fear that Dean would still choose to go back to him.  
  
"Well have you called him?" Dean asked her.  
  
Sam just looked down at him, confusion clear on her face. Why on earth would she call him?  
  
"No," she said, flatly.  
  
"So he has no way to find us, no way to call, and you haven't contacted him?" Dean looked at her like she'd lost her mind.  
  
"He hit me, and got you seriously hurt," she said, like she was talking to a small child. "I have no intention of _calling_ him, or having anything else to do with him."  
  
Dean looked at her like she was being unreasonable, and like he didn't quite believe the words coming out of her mouth. "Sam...I know he hit you, but he's probably real sorry. And he's probably losing his shit since both his kids have been missing for going on a week now! We need to call him."  
  
"I didn't leave because he _hit me_ Dean, I left because he almost got you killed!" Sam couldn't believe Dean thought she'd left because of that. If she were going to have run away because of the way John treated _her,_ she'd have done it a long time ago. "And he didn't even care enough to stick around and make sure you were okay before he was out the door again!"  
  
Dean got off his knees and stood to lean against the counter. "He had more important things to deal with, Sammy. You know that." He crossed his arms over his chest gingerly.  
  
"There _is_ nothing more important!" she stood, almost as angry now as she'd been with John. How dare someone like Dean, who'd given everything for her and John, feel like his life was worth less than John's ridiculous, revenge-fueled hunts? "He should be more concerned with his son _dying_ , than with killing some monster!" her voice cracked in her anger. "I'm not going to sit around and watch him get you killed. And if we call, he'll just find us and drag us into all of that again."  
  
"Sammy, he's our dad, we can't just leave and never speak to him again. And what do you mean by 'all that'? That's our _lives_ you're talking about. What is going on in that head of yours?" Dean seemed shocked that she didn't mean to get in touch with John, but Sam couldn't understand why. She had never liked hunting, had always butted heads with John; surely Dean knew that.  
  
"No father should spend their son's life like copper," Sam whispered. "And I can't watch while you let him run you into the ground, Dean."  
  
"Okay, even if we left and never talked to _our Dad_ again, hunting is my life too, what am I supposed to do?" Dean asked.  
  
"Get better," Sam said quietly. "After...you could be a mechanic. Any place would hire you on the spot after seeing the condition you keep the impala in. You could do all kind of things, anything you wanted. And if you don't find something soon, or ever, I've got some money saved up, and a job. I can get us by." Hell, if Dean wanted to stay home and do nothing, she'd do what it took to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. God knows Dean had done the same for her all of her life; she had sixteen years of payback to start making up for. She just wanted him to stay with her.  
  
"Whoa, Sammy, slow your roll. I maybe can't start looking right away, but I'm not going to make you bring home the bacon all by yourself. And what do you mean you got a job?" he asked.  
  
Sam smiled briefly, remembering her shift at the restaurant, remembering Andy and her chatter, and she pulled her tip money out of the pockets of her shorts to show Dean.  
  
"Had my first shift this morning, and this is just the tips," she said, putting what looked to be over a hundred dollars on the table. "I'm a waitress at a restaurant down the street," she said.  
  
Dean's eyebrows raised. "We've been here all of one night, and you've already got a job and are pulling in the big bucks?" Dean asked, disbelief clear in his tone.  
  
Sam smiled. She might not be great at hunting, but she could be great at this. At making a life for them here.  
  
"Yeah," she said, softly.  
  
Dean looked tired, uncrossed his arms, and moved to sit back down. That was when Sam realized he hadn't had any pain medication in almost twenty four hours.  
  
"You need something for the pain?" she asked, moving to get a glass of water.  
  
Dean didn't answer for a moment, but then nodded. Sam got the pills out and handed them to Dean.  
  
"Try to eat before they make you too sleepy," Sam said.  
  
"Yeah, thanks," Dean said, taking the pills and drinking most of the water. "We'll table this conversation about dad, but don't think I've forgotten," he said before starting to eat.  
  
"Oh I won't," Sam muttered, before taking a bite of her now-cold dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try posting on Wednesdays and Saturdays. And I keep updating the numbers of chapters that this will have. Right now it says 5/12 because 12 is what I have written, but it will continue to change the more chapters I get written, and because I keep having so many ideas.


	6. I'm Not A Lonely Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean takes a look around the apartment, Sam goes to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made some changes to that sketch of the apartment layout in chapter 4 if anyone cares to look back at that. I know when I read, I imagine the layout of the room or wherever, and if suddenly an author says something in a way that conflicts with what I had imagined, I have to pause and rethink the layout to match the new criteria, or I have a hard time imagining characters interacting in a space.

Sam woke, curled around Dean in their tiny apartment for the second night in a row. Dean had fallen asleep not long after dinner, but Sam had stayed up. She'd run to the store, using her tip money to grab cleaning supplies and a few more groceries—fruit, perishables, things that she hadn't wanted to get before they were settled. John hadn't ever bought fresh fruit; she'd been lucky to get a tasteless apple or an overripe banana at whatever school of the month she was enrolled in.

She got the groceries in as quietly as she could, so as not to wake Dean, and spent the next few hours cleaning the apartment. Mostly the bathroom, which looked like it hadn't been cleaned at all by the last tenant. Or maybe the last several. Normally she wouldn't bother, but they were going to be there for a month, and she wanted to make this place hers and Dean's as much as she could.

When the apartment looked as good as she could get it, she'd showered and gotten ready for bed.

The next morning she got up, made breakfast with the eggs she'd picked up last night, and if they were a little rubbery, a bit too salty, Dean didn't say anything. She didn't have to be at work until five that evening. They wanted to teach her how to close tonight. Sam figured Dean would want to continue their conversation about John, but to her surprise, Dean asked her about work instead. 

 

* * *

 

Sam lit up when he asked her about work. She must really like this new job.

"They hired me almost right away! Andy, the girl training me, made a big deal to the manager that I could remember the menu, and I actually waited tables almost the whole shift," Sam said, excitement in her voice.

She said the menu thing like it wasn't a big deal, but Dean had always been amazed by Sam's memory. He wasn't surprised that some waitress had bragged to her boss about Sam.

"That's great, Sammy." Dean said. "Hey what did you mean last night when you said you had money saved up?" He couldn't imagine where Sam could have gotten enough money to pay rent for a whole month at once.

He saw Sam flush, and thought she looked a tad guilty. "I opened a bank account a few years ago, with money from babysitting, odd jobs, lunch money," she glanced away. "I've been adding to it ever since. I was trying to save for college, but I never would have had enough anyway. I've got about two grand though, that can help us get by if I'm not bringing in enough from work."

Let it never be said that Sammy was unprepared. "Damn," Dean said softly. "You really don't mess around when it comes to running away, huh?" he said it jokingly, but even he could hear the sadness in his voice. Sam had always planned to leave them; her timetable had just moved up, and he'd been brought along for the ride.

Sam said nothing.

"Well we gotta talk about dad. We should at least call and let him know we're okay. With his mind, you know he'll think we got _got_ by something," Dean said quietly.

"Dean. Dean please don't call him," Sam's voice was soft. "He'll ask where we are and I know you can't say no to him. If we call him, he'll find us. Please." Sam looked scared now, and small. He wanted her to look like she had when she'd talked about her new job, not terrified at the prospect of seeing their father.

Dean sighed.

"Y'know _I_ don't even know where we are," he said wryly.

Sam looked for a moment like she might not tell him, but then, "California. Northern California," she said.

Dean's eyebrows raised. "Then why did it take us five days gets here?" he asked. They'd been in Illinois at the time; it didn't take that long to get to the west coast, unless Sammy had taken one hell of a scenic route.

"I went south first, while we maxed out the cards I grabbed," Sam said.

Jesus. She'd deliberately thrown dad off their scent. And even if John knew she'd done it on purpose, they had a whole country they could be in, and Sam was smart; dad might think she'd led him south on purpose, only in order to stay as a misdirect.

"Okay." Dean didn't know what else to say. Sam was clearly freaked just _thinking_ about dad finding them. She'd mentioned she'd payed for this place for the month. A month from now he'd be fully healed, Sam could maybe save some money for college—his ass she was giving up on school, he knew how much she wanted to go, even if she didn't mention it often—and she'd have put this mess with dad behind her. He'd talk to her more about it before their month was up. "Okay, I won't call." He could give her that much for now.

Sam looked so relieved he almost said _fuck dad, we'll be fine on our own_ , but he knew that was a promise he couldn't keep, so he kept his mouth shut.

 

* * *

 

Dean didn't really know what to do with himself when Sam left for work. He hated being laid up like this, felt useless and restless. He couldn't move around much without getting tired and starting to hurt, but he wanted to poke around a bit.

Sam had clearly been busy since they arrived. The fridge was full of actual, real food— _that Sam probably didn't know what to do with_ , he chuckled to himself. For all her brains, she just didn't get cooking. The eggs this morning had been awful, but she'd gone to the effort of buying and bringing home groceries and then making him breakfast, so he wasn't about to complain. He'd just have to cut her off at the pass when it came to making meals.

He looked in the bathroom, surprised to see that it was _much_ cleaner than he'd seen it yesterday during his shower. There were actual cleaning supplies under the sink. They'd never owned cleaning supplies before; they'd never been somewhere long enough to bother. Sammy must be set on staying here a while.

He looked in the closet to find the few clothes they had that belonged on hangers inside. Usually they lived out of their duffel bags. Dean didn't see their bags anywhere. He looked in the set of drawers nearer to Sam's side of the bed. She'd folded his t-shirts and tossed his underwear in the top drawer. Glancing in the middle drawer, he saw she'd clearly claimed it for herself. And in the bottom drawer were their duffels. It looked like she'd stuffed them deliberately out of sight.

Dean sighed. Even the way she'd filled up this new space reminded him of how much she'd hated the way John had forced them to live. Dean was twenty years old. He'd never really lived any other way and he'd never cared to. He had sworn up and down he'd go nuts with a nine to five, going home to the same place day in and day out. But seeing what Sam had done to this place in forty-eight hours was a little heartbreaking. She'd wanted a home so badly, wanted a normal life. And with how quickly she'd set up, it was easy to imagine coming home to her every day, making meals at night, going out and doing stuff together on weekends. Normal things like going to the movies, playing pool against each other, instead of conning strangers out of their money and worrying that local cops would come after them.

Dean was still looking at their duffel bags, stuffed in the bottom drawer. He needed to sit down. He was clearly losing his shit if he was starting to really think about just staying with Sam forever. He took only one pain pill, and lay down to nap a bit. He'd get up before Sammy got home and make them dinner so she wouldn't accidentally poison them by trying to cook.

 

* * *

 

After getting officially hired, Katie told her she was allowed a free meal every night until she'd gone through everything on the menu, so that when customers asked what was good, she'd be able to give recommendations. Sam was thrilled because the food here looked delicious, especially after the unfortunate eggs she'd made this morning.

Andy had told her that since she was learning to close, it would take less time than usual because they were both there to get everything done. The restaurant was small, but they had good food and people here tipped well. They had a bar too; Dean was old enough to tend bar, maybe she'd ask him if he had any interest in working _here_.

On second thought, she didn't want to have to watch him flirt with every woman who came up for a drink while she was trying to work. A sour expression would definitely net her less in tips.

And boy did she make a lot in tips tonight. The night shift was a whole different ball game, and she barely had time to breathe before they were closing for the night. They had a few stragglers, who wouldn't leave, even though they must have seen Andy and Sam closing around them, but they left before too long. Andy explained that this happened often, and unless they stayed thirty minutes after close, they weren't allowed to ask them to leave. Sam thought it was awfully rude of them to linger, but it meant more time on the clock for her.

She had filled out paperwork in the tiny office on her break, as well as gotten one of her free meals. One of the cooks had even given her a little extra, had winked and said she looked like she needed it. She might have taken offense, but she was too hungry to bother, so she just thanked him. She filled out her banking information while she ate. Her savings account had come with a checking account, but she'd never bothered to use it before. She hadn't ever been able to get a debit card, for fear John might find it and wonder why she was saving money, and it's not like she had needed a way to spend it anyway. But now her paycheck would go in there and she'd use it to pay rent and buy groceries. She was off tomorrow, she'd have to find out how to get that debit card. 

 

* * *

 

Sam had told him when she'd be home from work, but she was a little earlier than she said she'd be. He was just finishing up dinner when she walked in the door.

"Hey Dean," she said, smiling. "Look what I made in tips tonight! It's even better than yesterday." She pulled out what had to be close to two hundred dollars and showed him.

"Christ," Dean muttered, "maybe I should have been a waiter all these years."

Sam grinned at him, grabbing a water from the fridge. "What are you doing out of bed?" she asked, leaning against the counter.

"Making us dinner with those groceries you bought," Dean said over his shoulder while stirring the food.

Sam looked surprised. "Oh!" she said. "I ate at work. They let us have free meals until we've tried everything so we can give recommendations when customers ask," she explained.

Dean was a little disappointed, because he'd wanted to do something for _her_ ; she'd driven them here, taken care of him, cleaned the whole apartment. She'd gotten a job _already_ and used her own money to buy groceries for them, get them set up. And she did it all to keep him from a life she was convinced would get him killed.

But all of that flew out of his head when she walked over and kissed his cheek. "Thanks, Dean. I really appreciate it," she said. "I'll do the dishes and we can save the leftovers for tomorrow." She smiled at him and he couldn't breathe for a moment, smiling to himself as she walked to the bathroom. Sammy hugged him on occasion, but she hadn't kissed him since she was small. He felt like his ribs were expanding, like someone had poured boiling water into his chest cavity, but not in an unpleasant way.

He thought maybe he had heartburn, and went back to stirring.


	7. When The Light Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam spends her day off with Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I would post on Saturdays and Wednesdays, and only ONE WEEK LATER I was supposed to post and I forgot. Sorry. I even had a checklist that day of things to do! But it just said "post" and I didn't remember what that meant..

Today was Saturday, and Sam was off today and tomorrow. She knew her bank only stayed open until noon on Saturdays and they'd slept kind of late, so she threw on shorts, shoes, and one of Dean's old flannel button ups over the tank top she’d slept in, and made her way to the bank.  
  
It turns out getting a debit card for an existing account wasn't all that difficult, and they told her to look for her card in the mail in one to three weeks. She guessed that meant she and Dean had to stay put until it arrived, and she'd have to pay for things with her tip money in the meantime.  
  
When she got back to the apartment Dean was just getting out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist. She drank in the curves and muscles of his back before averting her eyes and grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. They'd been left over from the trip to California and she liked to take them to work, but now it gave her something to do instead of standing around ogling Dean.  
  
"Hey Sammy, where you been?" Dean asked. He grabbed some clothes from his drawer and made his way back to the bathroom, keeping the door open—presumably to be able to hear her answer—but moving where she couldn't see him.  
  
"The bank," she told him, raising her voice to be heard over the bathroom fan. "I needed to get a debit card. Since I've had that bank account I've never had a reason to use the checking park of the account."  
  
Dean came back out of the bathroom in dark boxer briefs and a t-shirt, scrubbing his short hair with a towel. "Little Sammy's growing up, got an honest job, a bank account." Dean was smiling, but there was something off about his tone as he sat on the bed.  
  
"Do you want me to take a look at..." Sam trailed off, motioning to his injured side.  
  
"So you can perv on me? No thanks, I can take care of it now, Sam," Dean said.  
  
Sam tried not to, but she could feel her face heating. Was Dean just kidding around when he made jokes like that, or did he actually suspect how she felt about him? She flicked the cap from her water bottle at him and tried to feign sisterly annoyance.  
  
"Ha-ha _ha_ ," she said sarcastically, going to the fridge and pulling out the leftovers from last night and putting them in the microwave. Dean had made enough that they could split it and have some fruit and call it lunch.  
  
"So what do you want to do today?" she asked him, looking at him over her shoulder. "Do you feel up for walking around some?"  
  
Dean shrugged. "Yeah I've been in this bed long enough. Don't know how long I can go out for though." He glanced at her through his eyelashes nervously, looking like he thought she might make fun of him or something.  
  
But that couldn't be farther from the truth. "Well I don't want you going far, the last thing you need is to pull a stitch or something." Dean got up from the bed and moved over to the table and sat down. "We can walk up to the roof if you want, get some sunshine. I haven't checked it out yet," she said, bringing the food over and an extra plate for her. "But you'll have to brave a flight of stairs, feel up to it?"  
  
Dean nodded and started eating. "You're off today, right? We could watch a movie or something," he said.  
  
Sam smiled. That sounded great; they need a little normal back. They were living like normal people, paying rent with money they actually earned, going to work. But they needed a little _them_ -normal.  
  
"That sounds great," she told him.  
  
They finished eating and left the apartment, and Sam was reminded she needed to give Dean the other key to the apartment when they got back. They went upstairs slowly, trying to be careful of Dean's side. The door to the roof was unlocked and there was no one else up there. She had Dean stay inside while she walked out and shut the door—to be sure it didn't lock from the inside automatically, and it didn't. They went up to the edge and leaned against the parapet, looking out at the street that they now lived on.  
  
There were mountains to the east, and it was overcast and a little cool for the end of April. Sam untied the flannel she had wrapped around her waist and shrugged into it, hugging her arms.  
  
"It's beautiful. That why you picked here?" Dean asked her.  
  
Sam looked out at the view as she spoke, leaning forward to rest her head on top of her arms. "I always liked the west coast. I like the weather, I like the mountains. I like that people, especially in the bigger cities, are too concerned with their own lives to ask me about mine." She looked up at Dean, and he looked somber.  
  
He put his arm around her shoulder. "Well I like it," was all he said as she leaned into him.

 

* * *

 

When they got back to the apartment, Sam opened one of the drawers in the kitchen and pulled out the other key to the apartment and handed it to him, along with the keys to the impala.  
  
"You're the one who GTA'd it Sammy, sure you don't want to keep 'em?" Dean joked.  
  
Sam looked a little guilty but just said, "We both know John was always going to give it to you anyway."  
  
Since when does she call dad _John_? Dean thought, but decided not to spoil the mood by saying anything.  
  
"Well I don't know about that—" Dean started to say.  
  
"I do," Sam said firmly, and she looked so sure about it that he didn't know what to say.  
  
"Well, want to watch a movie?" Dean asked, gracelessly changing the subject.  
  
Sam was watching him with a small smile as he put the apartment key on the same ring that held the keys to the impala. Maybe to her it meant settling down or something. He didn't comment because she started to answer him.  
  
"Yeah! I haven't turned the TV on since we've been here so I don't know if there are any good channels yet," Sam said as she picked up the remote control. She turned the little TV on top of the dresser towards the bed, before getting on the bed and moving to slide back against the wall; the bed didn't have a headboard. Sam moved the pillows between her and the wall and tried to get comfortable.  
  
Dean sat next to her and plucked the remote from her hands.  
  
"Hey!" Sam exclaimed, reaching to get it back, but Dean moved it to his other hand and out of her reach. She leaned against him to grab it, but eyed his injured side before giving up.  
  
"Hey I'm the oldest, and I'm injured, I get to pick this time," Dean told her.  
  
Sam sat back again, facing the TV. "Well enjoy it while you can, jerk. You won't be injured forever," but she didn't seem all that upset and he thought he could see tension leaving her shoulders.  
  
This was what Dean had hoped would happen when he teased her about the remote, or about perving on him earlier. He wanted her to relax; he wanted his little sister back for a few minutes, instead of this practically grown young woman, who worried about _bills_ and when he took his pain medication. He couldn't wait to get back on his feet so he could help her out. She was sixteen, she didn't need to be worrying about paying rent and her brother dying.  
  
Dean flipped through channels until he came to _Star Wars: A New Hope_. They'd seen it plenty of times but it was a classic. It looked like they'd only missed about ten minutes.  
  
"Dean, we've seen this a hundred times," Sam complained.  
  
"Injured," was all Dean said in reply.  
  
Sam huffed quietly, but turned back to the TV. Dean could swear she was trying not to smirk.  
  
During the commercials they were made aware that the station they were watching was playing the whole trilogy back to back. Sam looked at Dean questioningly and Dean smiled and nodded. Sam just groaned.

 

* * *

 

After the first movie Sam ran to the bathroom, and they both changed into more comfortable clothes. Sam into some loose shorts—the kind someone would likely buy to wear at the gym, never use, and give to Goodwill, where Sam had picked them up. And Dean just lost his jeans, tossing them at the foot of the bed.  
  
Sam dug around for snacks, but she hadn't bought very "snacky" foods on her grocery runs. She found the unopened bag of beef jerky from the first gas station they'd stopped at. It seemed like a month ago, although it had really only been a week. She held up the bag where she was standing in the kitchen. "This okay?" she asked Dean.  
  
"Yeah, hurry up, the second one is starting!" Sam rolled her eyes. Dean had to have seen this over a dozen times already, but she hurried back to bed anyway, handing him the bag.

 

* * *

  
  
Dean couldn't blame Luke for crushing on Carrie Fisher, she was a total babe. If his sister was that pretty—  
  
_Sam is prettier_ , his brain said unhelpfully.  
  
Dean tensed. First of all that was blasphemy; Carrie Fisher was the hottest. Secondly, that was _Sam_ he was thinking about, what was wrong with him? But as he sat there and thought more about it—unable to pay attention to the movie now—he realized his brain was right. He _did_ think Sam was prettier.  
  
Well now he really didn't want to think about how he'd been about to finish that thought about Luke having the hots for his sister.

 

* * *

   
  
The light from the window was gone, the sun having set about an hour ago, and the room was dark since they hadn't bothered turning on any lights during the movies. Dean had planned to get up and cook something for dinner, since all they'd had to eat today were leftovers and beef jerky. But Sam had fallen asleep before the end of the third movie, leaning against his chest with her head on his shoulder.  
  
He decided he wasn't hungry enough to wake Sam by turning on lights and making a bunch of noise. The only light came from the TV, which he'd lowered the volume on when Sammy had fallen asleep. Dean pulled up the covers and lay down, then turned the TV off.  
  
He listened to Sam breathe, his arm still around her shoulders, and the faint noise of car traffic outside of their window. He really could see himself living here with Sam, and it scared him how quickly he was getting used to the idea of this life. There was no next hunt, no mission, except for his own personal mission to get a job and help Sam out with the bills. He knew she'd shown him her tips both nights so that he wouldn't worry about money while he was laid up, but he didn't want her to feel like she had to spend every dime she had taking care of him. Since they'd left dad, so far every decision she'd made had been for him. She'd gotten him away from dad to keep him safe, she'd used her college money to get a place for them to stay, she'd gotten a job so Dean could eat. He was beyond ready to contribute to this new life she was trying to make for them.  
  
Sam rolled towards him in her sleep and put her arm across him. She wasn't awake to be hyper-concerned about putting pressure on his injury, and her breasts were pressed against his side and chest through their thin shirts, firmly enough that he had to grit his teeth in order to stay silent.  
  
Dean felt his face getting hot. _Well this is uncomfortable in more ways than one_ , he thought wryly. But it was no longer humorous when the pain in his side subsided and he felt himself getting hard. Then he just felt humiliated and confused. There was no one around to see him reacting to his _sister_ this way, but _he_ knew, and he felt like he was going to be sick to his stomach.  
  
Dean stayed completely still. If he moved now, Sam might wake up, and if he went to rub one out in the bathroom she would probably be able to hear him. And it's not like he could do anything about it here.  
  
It has nothing to do with _her_ , Dean tried to tell himself. He'd been down and out for a week now, the pipes just needed cleaning, that was all. It was just bad timing that it had happened the same night he'd made the Leia comparison. He tried to put these thoughts out of his mind and get some sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I try to tell this from the perspective that makes the most sense. Sometimes that means telling it from the most interesting perspective, or just the most informative. But that sometimes means that stuff gets missed, because someone has assumed or misconstrued something. For instance, Dean has incorrectly assumed that Sam has dipped into her college fund to pay rent. In actuality, she had enough money from the cash she withdrew from John's credit cards to pay their rent. Just barely, but she had it—and the money to get their prepaid phones—and then she was able to make any other purchases with money she earned in tips. I bring it up in the notes because they could end up needing that money for something down the road, and unless I want to literally build a scene around clearing up that small confusion, it could be ages before Dean finds out, or Sam thinks about it.


	8. The Distant Shore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean go to the beach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the longest chapter so far! I hope you guys like this one. Also note the new tags, and be warned if sexual content isn't your cup of tea!

When Sam woke on Sunday morning she heard the shower running. She stretched, thinking maybe they could take a drive somewhere. She'd wanted them to walk around town and actually see the place, but Dean couldn't be up and about a lot. She could tell he was getting restless though. Maybe driving somewhere would be enough of a distraction without Dean having to do a lot physically. She'd ask him about it.

She got up and walked to the bathroom, intending to brush her teeth, but when she opened the door she heard the tell-tale sounds of Dean jerking off. She closed the door quietly and decided she could brush her teeth when he got out. She went to get a glass of water.

_Well if he's well enough for that already, maybe we'll walk around town after all_ , she thought.

It's not like it wasn't something she'd heard plenty of times before, but it seemed different. Before when they'd done that sort of thing, they were trying to keep it from each other _and_ from John, even when John wasn't around. Knowing that he was and would always only be trying to keep it from _her_ made her feel odd in a way she couldn't define. Maybe she should try not to have consecutive days off in a row, so she could give him some privacy. They'd always lived in each others back pockets, but maybe now that they weren't being forced to, Dean would want to get separate bedrooms. If they were both working they'd be able to afford it at some point, and they had had them on occasion before, when John happened to get multiple bedrooms for cheap. Usually only in the dumpier places.

She hadn't heard the shower turn off, but Dean was coming out of the bathroom. He once again had only a towel wrapped around his waist, so she rushed into the bathroom to give him time to get dressed. Dean hated getting dressed in a steamy bathroom. She didn't blame him, she hated it too, but she usually did it anyway when they were sharing rooms.

She peed, brushed her teeth, and waited to give Dean an extra minute. When she walked out Dean still only had on underwear, and was putting on a t-shirt. He raised his eyebrows at her.

"I really had to pee," she said, even though she hadn't. She sat on the Dean's side of the bed, with one leg beneath her and the other hanging down to rest on the floor.

Dean was rummaging around for clothes and said distractedly, "I think I left it open."

He'd absolutely left it open, and it was a good thing his back was turned because her eyebrows shot up involuntarily, as if to call him on that fact. She didn't comment.

She begrudgingly pulled her eyes away from where they were staring at his ass, and walked to the kitchen to find something to eat. Sam was of the opinion that "breakfast food" was not a real category of food, and that any food could be breakfast. This drove Dean crazy, but it was less because he disagreed with her, and more because he loved what were conventionally considered "breakfast foods".

Sam opened a cabinet and pulled out some pancake mix she'd seen in the store that you could just add water to, and thought Dean would like. She was moderately good at cooking most anything that you only had to add water to, because there was only so much wiggle room for her to fuck up. She reached for the one pan that had come with the apartment; it looked like the last tenants had only left it behind because it had been disgusting when they got there. Sam cleaned it the night that she cleaned the bathroom, and decided it would do until she could go buy them some of their own.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked.

"Making pancakes," Sam said.

Dean rushed towards her, bumping her hip with his to scoot her out of the way, and taking both the pan and the pancake mix from her.

"Why don't you let me do that, Sammy? You can get showered while I get breakfast ready," Dean said, winking at her.

"You could not be less smooth," she said, rolling her eyes. "But be my guest." She grabbed a pair of shorts and a tank top from her drawer and went into the bathroom. She started the shower, letting the water warm up while she brushed her hair and undressed.

Once in, she thought it had been a while since she'd gotten herself off too, and since Dean would take a while with breakfast, she had plenty of time. She tried to think of Cassie Eberman, or any of the girls at her last school, but her thoughts kept coming back to Dean as she touched herself. She always tried not to, and was good at sticking to it if there was a pretty girl at school she liked. But she always caved and came back to Dean when there wasn't someone she was interested in in her life.

She thought about Dean getting off in this same shower just a few minutes ago and panted, feeling equal parts shame and arousal. She had seen girls leaving their motels in the past as she was getting home from school, and they'd never looked unsatisfied, never looked anything but completely enamored with Dean, like they didn't want to leave. He'd tried to keep that part of his life away from her, but she wondered what he did with those girls. She found herself wondering what it would be like to touch and kiss one of those girls while Dean fucked the girl from behind. Whether he would look Sam in the eyes while he thrust into someone else or if he would close his eyes, his pretty lips falling apart around soft moans. She wondered if he would look her in the eyes if he fucked her—

Sam came, pressed up against the wall of the shower and gripping onto the soap dish attached to wall. She stood there for a few moments, breathing heavy, waiting for the guilt to settle in over thinking of Dean that way. It didn't; sometimes she could just enjoy the afterglow and the guilt wouldn't rear its ugly head until she saw Dean again.

Well at least she could blame her flushed face on the heat from the shower. She washed her hair and soaped up while her conditioner sat. She'd bought real shampoo and conditioner, not the tiny hotel bottles that John and Dean hoarded. She'd been excited to use them and see if they were any better for her hair. Even if they weren't, they smelled better.

She got out after toweling off and wrapped up her hair. She brushed her teeth and put on fresh clothes, tucking her tank top into the high waist of her shorts and letting her hair down.

She left the bathroom and went to the dresser to get a pair of socks.

"Breakfast is ready in a minute Sammy," Dean said over his shoulder and the sound of something frying.

"Kay," she called, moving to the closet to grab her boots. They were actually an old pair of Dean's that he'd outgrown and she had finally grown into. They were real leather and had long been broken in when Dean was going to throw them out. She loved them, but they took forever to lace so she didn't wear them all that often. She took a few deep breaths and tried to rid herself of any lingering guilt before walking over to Dean.

She leaned against the counter, next to the stove where Dean was plating out pancakes and eggs. He handed her a plate and looked at her shoes. "Going somewhere?" he asked.

"I thought we might, if you're feeling up to it," she said, moving to the table as Dean turned off the stove.

"Yeah, I'd love to get out for a while. What did you have in mind?" Dean asked.

"I kind of just wanted to walk around and see some of the town," Sam said. "Maybe just our street? Or we could take a drive. The coast is only about an hour drive away. What sounds good?"

Dean actually chewed his food and swallowed before answering. "I think a drive sounds good," he said. "I haven't driven the car since before I was made into mincemeat," he joked.

Sam didn't think that was particularly funny so she took a bite of her breakfast and _mmmm_ 'ed.

"This is so good, thanks for making breakfast," she said, realizing she hadn't eaten since the beef jerky yesterday afternoon, and was actually really hungry.

"No problem," Dean smiled at her.

They finished breakfast and Sam offered to do the dishes while Dean got ready to go. 

 

* * *

 

Dean dug his keys out of yesterday's jeans and they left the apartment, Sam showing him where the impala was parked. She offered to drive, but he wanted to get back in the drivers seat. The ride was quiet, The Rolling Stone's _Black and Blue_ playing low. It was only an hour to the beach, but they didn't have a map so it took them a bit longer to find it on their own.

Sam was quiet and Dean wondered if that was because this ride reminded her of the trip here—worrying that he would die; or all of the trips before—of dad dragging them all over the country on hunts.

It was still a little early in the year for a lot of people to be going to the beach, so parking was easy and they found a place to sit near the water. They hadn't thought to bring towels, and it's not like the apartment came stocked with beach towels anyway. Dean was going to regret not thinking of that when he had to vacuum sand out of the impala.

Sam had worn faded jean shorts with a goddamn _white_ tank top tucked into them. It made her waist look super tiny, and her skin look darker than usual, and he wasn't the one who noticed. Though he was probably the only one beating himself up over it.

There were a few guys Dean's age or a little younger that were _very_ obviously checking Sam out. Dean walked on the side of Sam that they were on and gave them a nasty look. They didn't look away from Sam.

Sam, who was completely oblivious and only had eyes for the Pacific and Dean. She had reached the edge of the water and sat in the sand; careful it seemed, not to get the ratty old boots of Dean's— that she had begged him not to throw away—wet. She stared out at the ocean. They'd had very little time over the years to both be near beaches, _and_ have the time to enjoy it, and Sam looked enraptured.

"You were quiet on the way here," Dean said, needing something to focus on besides his contempt for the assholes that were still gawking at Sam. "Penny for your thoughts." Dean sat down next to her as Sam lay back in the sand, hands clasped on her stomach, and her eyes closed, soaking in the mild sun.

Her legs were bent at the knee, swinging back and forth as she spoke, eyes still closed. "I was just thinking it was nice to go for a drive with you that I was relatively sure wouldn't end with hunting ghosts," she said, smiling. She opened her eyes, looking at Dean. "It wasn't really the road I hated, so much as the moving. I like the sights, I even like most of your unchanging music—" she glanced at Dean with a glare in her eye, but amusement in the curve of her mouth, "—but I hated being the new kid, to finally make friends once it was time to pack up and leave. I hated being in a new place every other week or month." She sighed, looking away from him and up to the sky. "I hated never learning my teachers names, always either being behind or too far in whatever we were learning in school at the time."

Dean hadn't realized with everything else going on—

"We never withdrew you from school," he said. "Or signed you up here. Shit."

Sam shrugged. "It was too late in the semester to bother," she said, too casually, and it was the most _un-_ Sam thing he'd ever heard come out of her mouth.

"What are you talking about, Sammy? We've got to get you registered, shit, you should be in class _right now_."

Sam laughed, but she sounded sad. "It's Sunday, dumbass." She sat up and it put Dean a little behind her now, so she had to turn her head to look back at him. She tried to brush the sand off of her back and out of her hair. Dean didn't move to help her, scared now, like he'd never been before, to touch her. He was a little afraid he wouldn't be able to stop. She looked back out at the ocean as she said, "I don't think I can go back. Any school would need my transcripts, and it would be way too easy for John to find us. I'll get my GED like you." She looked back at him and tried to smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"Sam no, you have to go to school," Dean told her. "Can you even go to college with a GED?"

Sam looked surprised. "Well yeah," she said, and turned back to the water, "but you also have to have money. Or scholarships, or both. It was stupid to ever think I could go." Dean was about to argue, but Sam continued. "Besides, college was always a way to get away from John, from his lifestyle. Who knows if I would have even liked it, or done well."

Dean thinks she would have done amazing in school. Sam was wicked smart, the smartest person he'd ever known, and she deserved to go to school and have a normal life if that was what she wanted. But dad deserved mom alive, and Dean..Dean wasn't sure what he deserved. Probably a jail cell with the way he'd been looking at Sam recently. But she's scared of dad finding them, and if he's being honest with himself, he's starting to realize he doesn't _want_ dad to find them. And since he doesn't have tens of thousands of dollars lying around to send her to school with, he doesn't call her on her lie, and changes the subject.

"Why are you calling him John all of a sudden?" he asked her.

Sam's eyes widened. She folded her arms on top of her knees and looked at the ocean for a long time, not speaking, but he didn't think she was ignoring his question. Just that she was thinking about how to answer.

"Do you—" Sam stopped and looked at him. "I'm not trying to be hurtful," she started again, and looked back at the ocean, "I'm _not_ but...was he ever a father to you?" Dean prickled and sat up straighter, but Sam didn't turn to look at him. "A drill sergeant, a teacher, sure. But when was the last time he acted like your _dad_? You're older, so maybe you remember more of how he used to be than I do." Sam finally looked at him again, asking if that was true with her eyes, and not her voice.

Dean thought for a moment before answering.

"When I found out what dad did, I thought he was the coolest person in the world. When he decided he could trust me with keeping you safe, and then as his backup, yeah I guess he _was_ more of a teacher. He sort of...jumped right into things with you, I guess you didn't get as much time to think about what we did before you were just, handed a gun and _in_ it. He was different before—before mom," he said thickly, "and I do remember some of what that was like. I guess my respect for what he did clouded the fact that he wasn't really the same man I'd grown up with," he admitted. It hurt to say it, but Sam was right.

Sam looked sad. "I'm sorry," she told him. Dean just nodded. He was sad too. "I love him," Sam said. "I do, even now. But he doesn't feel like my _dad_. And I'm terrified of him finding me. Not because of what he'd do necessarily—I don't think he'd hit me again or anything. But because of what he represents...a gun in my hand, another endless stretch of highway in front of me. I don't want that. I've never wanted that. And I'm so afraid of losing what I've built—even in just a few days—if he..." Sam trailed off and wiped her eyes. Her voice had been so steady he hadn't even realized she was crying. "So no, I don't want to call him 'dad' anymore."

"Okay." Dean said. He understood now, and he wouldn't question her about it again.

Sam smiled at him and sniffed. "Okay, that's enough about John. So what were _you_ thinking about on the drive here?" Sam asked him.

"I was thinking about how we need to get you some new shoes," he said, looking pointedly at her boots.

Sam looked at him in shock and mock-outrage. "What are you talking about, I love these boots!"

"Yeah, I can tell," Dean said. "And they look like you've loved them too long. Y'know they make boots like that for girls too, we could get you new ones." He didn't know how, or with what money, but if she wanted a new pair he'd find a way to get them for her.

"I like the guys' though," Sammy said, reaching down and grabbing the toes of her boots. "I actually went and tried some on one day. I couldn't afford them, and the woman helping me could tell, but it seems like they make girls' differently. They felt different, and I like the way these look, I like that they were yours." She looked back at Dean, squinting a bit now that the sun had come out from behind the clouds more.

With the sun in her eyes, gripping onto old shoes of Dean's that she kept wearing because they were his, Dean didn't think he could love her—and simultaneously hate himself—anymore than he did in that moment.

 

* * *

 

They stayed a bit longer, working their way through random, more lighthearted subjects than they started off with. Sam was glad they'd come here, glad she and Dean had talked about John. Dean didn't feel the same way that she did about him, but it was enough that he understood her feelings.

She wanted to come back here, and next time she'd bring a swimsuit and get in the water. They'd bring towels and sunscreen and food, and maybe they'd stay all day.

They got up, dusting themselves off and walking back to the impala, Sam still resolutely ignoring the boys who'd been staring at her from the time she and Dean first made their way down to the beach. She nudged Dean's shoulder with hers and smiled at him, holding her hand out for the keys to the impala. He knew without her saying, what she wanted and he handed them over, and went to the passenger side. Sam got in the drivers side, started the car, and drove them home.

 

* * *

 

When they got back to the apartment they took turns showering all the sand from their bodies, Dean letting her go first. While he showered Sam pulled a book out of her duffel that she hadn't read since the night Dean was hurt. She was finally calm enough to just sit and do something she enjoyed. She had enjoyed the movie marathon with Dean yesterday, but that required no effort on her part. Well, very little effort. She _had_ fallen asleep during the last movie. But she needed a different kind of concentration for reading than for watching a movie she'd already seen a dozen times.

When Dean came out of the shower he stayed quiet, probably because he saw her reading. She noticed how considerate that was without interrupting her focus on the book, like her brain was storing that information for later, while still comprehending what she was reading. She finished the chapter she was on and looked up.

Dean was pulling ingredients out of the fridge quietly. She just looked at him for a while. His hair was wet, and he was just wearing boxer briefs and a t-shirt. That was pretty standard fare when it was just the two of them. He'd always worn pants when dad was around the house, at least after ten in the morning. He didn't usually bother when it was just her, and she'd always hoped it was a sign Dean felt more comfortable around her than with John. But that might have been wishful thinking. There were things she could say to Dean, and that she could say to friends, but she didn't always want to say those things in the company of both; maybe that was sort of where Dean's head was at with his underwear versus pants-wearing criteria.

She shook her head and got up to help Dean. He'd let her drive home, so he must have been hurting by the time they left the beach.

"Want some help?" she asked. "Thanks for letting me finish my chapter." She leaned until her face was mushed up against Dean's shoulder.

He laughed softly. "No problem, Sammy." He went back to dealing with ingredients. "You know I love you more than anything, but you also know how I feel about you in the kitchen," he said, grinning.

Sam did know how he felt, and was glad that he was kind enough not to vocalize how horrible she was in the kitchen again, while reminding her dumb, stupid heart—beating wildly in her chest—that Dean didn't mean that he loved her in the way that her heart had taken it.

"What if you sit down, and walk me through what to do?" she suggested.

Dean raised an eyebrow, and his expression made it clear that he believed this to be a bad idea, but he went to sit at the table anyway.

She smiled and tried to follow his instructions to the letter, but there were a few missteps that he had to rush over and try to fix. She felt like it went pretty well though, and she thought she might have learned something. Part of the reason she was such a horrible cook is because she learned best by studying. Dean was good at cooking because he learned by doing, and had had years to practice because he'd had to feed the two of them.

It wasn't the best dinner they'd ever had, but they'd made it together. After they cleaned the few dishes they'd used, they settled down to watch a movie. When the credits rolled, Sam turned to Dean. She'd been wanting to ask him since the beach, but she hadn't wanted to upset him. It had already been unusual for him to talk so openly about his memories of John before the fire, and she didn't want to push her luck. But she felt like if there were ever a time to ask, it was before whatever had helped them be so open at the beach wore off completely.

"Dean?" she whispered, looking at him in the light from the TV.

"Yeah, Sammy?" Dean was equally quiet.

"Can you tell me—what do you remember about mom? What was she like?" Sam practically held her breath, waiting for Dean to answer or brush her off and go to sleep.

He looked like he might do both, or either, but then he started to speak.

"She was beautiful," he said first. "I was really too old to be picked up and held, but I'd ask anyway, and she'd say yes more often than not. I'd just stare at her sometimes." Dean was so quiet Sam had to strain to hear every word. "She was funny. I can't remember what she said but I remember her making me laugh a lot. She kissed my face, I swear, probably a hundred times a day, and yours too after you were born, I remember that." Dean wasn't looking at her, and she was glad because she'd started to cry and she was afraid he might stop speaking if he saw. "Her favorite song was _Hey Jude_ and she used to sing it to me every night before bed." Tears fell from Dean's eyes and that pulled a sob from Sam's throat. Dean finally looked at her and wiped his own tears. He put his hand in her hair and she threw her arms around his neck and cried into his shoulder. She could feel his tears against her cheek and then they were both just crying and holding each other. After the worst of it Dean kissed her forehead and she squeezed him around the neck and pulled away from him.

"Thank you," she said, wiping her eyes. "Thank you so much for telling me," her voice broke and she sniffled.

Dean nodded, holding her face and helping her wipe away tears. He hugged her one more time, before turning off the TV and pulling her down to bed. She tucked into his chest, his chin on top of her head and fell asleep as he pressed a kiss to her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos are always appreciated!


	9. Knock Me Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Andy go shopping. Sam has a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're easily triggered by any sort of non-con, I encourage you to skip to the end notes and read a description of what goes on in this chapter and decide for yourself if you're okay reading that sort of thing. If you want to skip, it's all of what is in italics.

Sam was happy in a way Dean had never seen her. She smiled all the time now, she talked more. She never looked so maudlin like she used to when they lived with dad. He hadn't known what a terrible effect their father had had on Sam, until she'd been away from him. Maybe he just hadn't wanted to see it.

Sam had to work a bunch of days in a row, trying to finish up her training shifts, and the days passed quickly for her, working at the restaurant while Dean healed. They did not pass quickly for Dean. He cooked their meals, he showered, he slept a lot. And having nothing to do, and a body that hurt too much to do anything, was driving him crazy. And if that weren't bad enough, Dean had a problem. 

And that problem was Sam. Dean couldn't take it anymore. Sam was killing him.

Sam never seemed to wear a bra anymore. She'd often gone without one at night back when they'd lived with dad, but back then she usually wore Dean's t-shirts to bed, which had been baggy on her. Her shirts were _not_ baggy anymore, and she didn't just not wear one to sleep these days either. She _never_ wore one as far as Dean could tell. Not to work, not to the store, definitely not around the apartment. And of course not to bed either, and with her crushed up against his back or his chest in her sleep...well, Dean's nights had become significantly more uncomfortable.

It's not like they hadn't shared beds before; they'd had to often with dad. But it had been easier to ignore when his t-shirts had covered up what he could feel, but not see. He was so fucked up.

He couldn't even argue that she _needed_ to wear one. Sam had the most perfect tits Dean had ever (not actually) seen, and he'd seen a lot in his time. They were round and perky and jiggled just slightly when she walked. And when it was chilly he could see her tiny nipples poking through the fabric of her—

He was not thinking this. _He could_ not _have just thought that._

How slowly and painfully would dad kill him if he'd heard what was going on in Dean's head?

Maybe Sam had accidentally left them all behind? Maybe she didn't think they could afford to replace them? Would it be weird to ask?

_Yes it would be weird, you whackjob_. That's all you need, Sam freaking out about the fact that you're thinking about her tits. Sam, who took you away from dad because she was worried half to death about you. Who gave up the only life she'd ever known—no matter how much she'd disliked it—and was determined to find a way to provide for you until you got back on your feet and could help yourself.

"Sam do you need some money?" he asked one day, practically face-palming. He just couldn't stop the words from coming out, and now he couldn't take them back.

Sam looked confused. "No, why?" she asked.

"For, y'know...girl stuff." Dean looked at her, then looked away, then looked _back_ , nervous.

Sam's eyebrows rose and she grinned. "'Girl stuff'? I've had an IUD since Jersey Dean, I have no need for 'girl stuff' anymore." She didn't bother miming the air quotes, her tone made it clear for her. At Dean's confused expression she elaborated. "No periods. No reason to buy that stuff anymore," she said.

Suddenly he understood what IUD meant in this context. Well he could have been happy never knowing that, and never wondering for what reason—or for whom—Sammy had gone on birth control. But it also meant they were having two different conversations and he would have to clarify.

"I meant-I meant like...undergarments." Dean mentally rolled his eyes. What was this, the 1930's?

"Oh!" Sam said, surprised. "I have a few, I just don't...like to wear them? And I get...nevermind." Sam trailed off and looked away.

"Get what?" Dean asked.

"I mean—I get better tips when I don't wear one," she said sheepishly.

"Sam!" Dean cried out. Sam looked like she was trying to keep from grinning and her cheeks had gone pink. "Jesus, did some pervy manager tell you that?"

Sam rolled her eyes. "No, I worked a shift last week without one, and then the same exact shift this week _with_ one, with the same amount of tables and everything, and I made 43% more in tips without one," she said.

Dean didn't know exactly what she pulled in tips per night, but that sounded significant, if not exactly scientific.

"So you're totally cool with dudes staring at your rack all night for a little extra money?" he asked, hoping that maybe his crass phrasing would get through to her.

"Who said it was all dudes?" Sam joked, and Dean froze as his entire body went hot. "And besides, you really don't want to go there with me, Dean." Her voice, playful and teasing a moment ago had gone low and dangerous. "How many waitresses have you eyefucked right in front of me?"

"That's exactly my point!" Dean exclaimed. "I know how guys think and I don't want them thinking it about you!"

"Well tough. Even if it made no difference at work, I don't like wearing them," she said, crossing her arms, which of course only accentuated the subject of their conversation.

Dean closed his mouth. He hadn't done much good by starting this conversation, just embarrassed himself. And he wasn't about to argue with her that she _should_ wear one. He didn't want her entertaining any thoughts about why he cared whether or not his little sis wore a bra. And he couldn't _make_ her, so it was best to just drop it.

 

* * *

 

The next day he saw a bunch of bras in the trash. He should have just kept his mouth shut.

 

* * *

 

Andy asks Sam if she wants to go shopping one day. Sam had never gone shopping with another girl. Usually John had given her fifteen bucks and fifteen minutes in a second-hand store and she'd had to get what she could find that fit.

She said yes immediately. She'd had enough in tips to get them food and pots and pans and other essentials, and she had enough left over that she could afford to buy some clothes. Half the reason she made as much in tips as she did was because she'd outgrown a lot of her clothes. They both had the day off tomorrow, so Andy said she'd pick Sam up at one and they'd head to the mall.

When they got there Andy asked her what her size was and she admitted she didn't know.

"That's okay," Andy said. "It probably depends on the brand anyway."

She eyed Sam up and down and started picking clothes off racks.

"Let's figure out what we're working with before we really go all in," Andy said, pulling a few items that were mostly the same but in different sizes.

They went to one of the fitting rooms a few minutes later and Andy walked right into the changing room with her, much to Sam's surprise. Maybe this was totally normal for girls to do.

Sam had started changing when Andy whistled. "Damn girl, you have the most perfect rack I've ever seen. I wish I could go without a bra."

Sam felt like every bit of blood in her body had migrated to her face. "It's just hard to go back to wearing one once you stop," she said, nervously. "It was a five day drive to California, so I didn't bother wearing one. And it's really uncomfortable now that I've gotten used to going without..." she trailed off. "And I'm sure you could absolutely go without if you wanted to."

Andy looked at her funny. "Didn't you drive here with your brother?" she asked. Sam had mentioned she lived with her brother, and she'd told Andy a bit about him, though never by name.

Sam looked away and pretended to focus on getting dressed. "Well yeah, but he slept most of the way here, I doubt he even noticed." Dean _definitely_ hadn't noticed, since he'd been unconscious the entire ride here. He'd probably only even noticed that she'd stopped wearing them when she'd worn that white tank top to the beach the other day.

"Maybe I will try it one day," Andy said, the conversation of Sam's brother forgotten.

 

* * *

 

Andy knew so much about so many things. When they went by makeup displays she knew which colors would look good on Sam without her trying anything on; she told her she should always try perfume samples _on_ her, not the pieces of paper that employees would spritz and then hand out, because they would smell differently on different people because of their body chemistry; and she always seemed to pick out clothes that looked good on Sam. If Sam hadn't seen enough actual witchcraft to know better, she'd swear Andy was working magic. She told Sam she'd look good in dark reds, browns, and muted greens, and that most anyone looked good in blacks, and whites, and greys, so those were safe too.

And Sam was in luck because all of those colors—sans white—seemed to be considered "winter" colors, and all of the winter stock was on sale. Thankfully even in winter, California wasn't too cold though, so there was a good selection of things that could be worn year round. Andy was all in on the high waisted shorts that Sam usually wore to work, grabbing several pairs for Sam to try, and explaining that Sam liked them because they accentuated her waist. Sam had always just thought she'd looked good in them, but what Andy said made sense. Andy had a lot of tidbits and advice that Sam could probably have figured out on her own, or might even have been utilizing herself, but when said out loud just helped something click in her brain.

Sam ended up buying more than she meant to, but not by too much. Andy hadn't looked a ton for herself and Sam wondered if this wasn't just an excuse to take _Sam_ shopping, but she was grateful anyway. As they left, Andy asked if Sam wanted to come over to her place before dropping Sam at home, and Sam agreed. She'd never been to too many of her friends houses because John was so cautious, and because it was rare for them to stay in one place long enough to get invited to someone's house.

When they got to Andy's, her mother was home and greeted them both with kisses on cheeks and offers of food. Andy brushed her mother off good-naturedly and they went upstairs to her room.

"I've been dying to see what you look like with a little makeup, do you mind it we play around some?" Andy asked.

Sam had never had a chance to really try makeup. John wouldn't have given her the money for it even if she'd asked, and she'd never asked because she didn't know how to use it. She nodded an enthusiastic yes.

This was another area in which Andy had an absolute _wealth_ of knowledge. When she was done, Sam knew what most everything Andy had used was called, and the purpose of it. It would take practice to be able to replicate what Andy had done, and she probably wouldn't ever use all that Andy had put on her face, but she liked the effect. Her eyes looked bigger somehow, her face more angular. And she finally had eyelashes to compete with Dean's.

Andy ended up giving her some of her old makeup, things she didn't use often or that had been replaced but not gotten rid of. She had multiples of a lot of things actually, and said she was more than happy to give them to Sam.

"To make room for more," she winked at Sam.

Andy took her home not long after, and Sam hugged her fiercely before getting out of the car. Andy looked surprised and hugged her back.

"Thank you," Sam said. "I had _so_ much fun." And she had, but it was more the fact that Andy had given her something she'd never had. Knowledge that she'd wanted, and hadn't had a way to ask for, and a friend she cared for all in one.

"Don't mention it, muñeca," Andy said as Sam got out of the car. "See you at work!" Sam waved as Andy drove away.

Sam walked up and into the apartment to find Dean at the stove.

 "Hey," she said, settling her bags inside the door.

"Hey you," Dean said, looking up from what he was cooking, and then doing an actual double take when he saw her face.

"Wow," he said, eyes still on her. "Your face looks...wow. I mean—not that you need—" just then Dean put his hand on what must have been a hot burner because he swore and jumped away from the stove.

"Jesus Dean, are you okay?" Sam asked, going to the freezer to grab some ice for his hand.

Dean cradled his hand to his chest, hissing as Sam curled it into a fist around the ice she'd gotten. Dean's eyes were glued to her again, and she could see his eyes moving over the different areas of her face from this distance.

"I..." Dean started to say, but never finished his thought.

"Don't strain yourself," Sam said, grinning and rolling her eyes. Her face felt flushed, but she didn't think Dean could tell because of the makeup Andy had put on her. "Do you need a hand with dinner?" she asked. Normally she didn't offer because Dean always said no, but he _had_ just hurt his hand.

"No that's okay," he told her, pulling his gaze away from her face. "It'll be ready in a little bit though." He went back to cooking.

Sam decided to go ahead and start cutting tags off of clothing and trying to find homes for the things she'd bought, and that Andy had given her. Her clothing drawer was almost full now, so she tossed a few of the things that she didn't like to wear, and moved the makeup Andy had given to her into the bathroom. By the time she finished, Dean told her dinner was ready.

 

* * *

 

Dean swore that when Sam left that afternoon she'd been sixteen. But the person walking in the door and greeting him was clearly like, twenty years old. It unnerved him, seeing Sam looking so grown up. She didn't look like his baby sis anymore, she looked like—a model or a movie star. Someone who was ready for bigger and better things than coming home to _him_. He couldn't stop looking at her, trying to find _his_ Sammy underneath the makeup. She looked beautiful in a knock-em-dead sort of way, but it wasn't the Sam he knew so well. And then he burned the absolute shit out of his hand like an idiot because he couldn't stop gawking at her.

"Does it bother you?" Sam asked him during dinner, motioning to her face.

Dean had been quiet and he guessed it was finally getting to Sam.

"No, no of course not." Dean looked down at his food. "It's not good or bad, just different," Dean told her.

Sam nodded. Then finally she said, "Andy did it. I probably couldn't replicate it without a lot of practice anyway."

Dean was a bit relieved. He'd never get anything done if she started walking around like this all the time.

They finished dinner in silence and Sam did the dishes. Dean offered to help, but he knew Sam felt bad if she let him cook and then clean, so he didn't argue when she refused.

He went to find something for them to watch on TV while Sam finished up in the kitchen and went to get dressed for bed. He was just taking a sip of water when Sam walked out of the bathroom in shorts so tiny, Dean could _see_ Sam's ass. They had white trim on the bottoms and a stripe down the sides.

Dean choked.

He coughed and felt water go up into his sinuses.

"Christ, are you okay?" Sam asked, going up to him and hitting him on the back. "What has gotten into you today?" she asked.

Dean was dying. He couldn't stop coughing. Sam kept patting his back and murmuring encouraging words. When he finally stopped she got in on her side of the bed and pulled up the blankets, and Dean could breathe again.

"Just went down the wrong pipe," Dean said, fiddling with the remote and resolutely _not_ looking at Sam. "Here, you pick tonight," he said, tossing Sam the remote and taking a careful sip of water.

Sam looked at him, disbelieving. He just shrugged and peeled at the label on his water bottle.

Sam picked an old Clint Eastwood movie, but she needn't have bothered because she fell asleep not more than half an hour in.

Dean sat quietly and freaked out about his reaction to Sam and those shorts and pretty much the whole of this past week. He'd been laid up, unable to go out and so much as _look_ at another girl, much less get out and find a random hookup. Sam was all he had to think about and his brain was playing tricks on him. This would all be a weird, uncomfortable memory he would one day be able to laugh about. Probably. Once he got back out into the real world, he would forget all about this weird little fixation on Sam.

He kept repeating those thoughts, hoping that when he woke up he would believe them.

 

* * *

 

_"Sam. Sam," Dean said, voice deep and slightly hoarse._

_He was kissing Sam and her lips felt bruised from it. She tilted her head back as Dean started in on her neck. She moaned and trailed her fingers down his back._

_They were on their bed, Sam underneath Dean with her legs spread, and she could feel him, hard against her even through their clothing._

_Sam grabbed his ass and ground up into him at the same time, and the sound that Dean made in response took her breath away._

_"Sam. Sammy I love you so much," Dean said, hands moving from her face, one stopping to palm her tit and the other moving lower. Sam thrust up towards his hand._

_"I love you too Dean, please. I've wanted this for so long, wanted_ you _," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck._

_"Do you want me to..." Dean trailed off, flicking open the button on Sam's jeans. Sam pulled him close and kissed his mouth again._

_"Yes, Dean please." She squirmed as his hand reached into her shorts and brushed against her cunt._

_"Hnnn," Sam whimpered, and tried to pull Dean's shirt off. She gasped as Dean slid a finger inside of her._

_"You're so wet Sammy. That all for me? You been thinking about this?" he asked gruffly._

_Sam nodding vigorously, reaching now to get Dean's belt off as he slid another finger inside. Sam kissed him again and he sighed into her mouth._

_"Dean p-please, I've been thinking about this so long."_

_At that, Dean pulled out of her and helped to get his own clothes off. Sam reached down and pulled her shorts off and Dean leaned forward, pushing her shirt up over her breasts but not removing it. He settled between her legs and she pulled him back down to her, hooking her ankles around his waist._

_"Sammy are you sure?" Dean asked, looking into her eyes._

_"I'm sure Dean, I'm so sure,_ please _."_

_At that, Dean pressed into her, slowly. Sam felt so full, and so happy she thought she might cry. When Dean was fully inside of her he pressed against her, thigh to chest and kissed her softly._

_And then he began to move. Nothing had ever felt as good in her life and she couldn't look away from him. She thrust up against him and they were so perfectly in sync. He reached down to circle her clit, trying to get her off first. He kissed her as she came, crying out his name. And then, as Dean started coming inside her, she saw his eyes turn black._

_Before he pulled out, a horrible black smoke started pouring out of his mouth and she lay back, completely paralyzed with fear._

_When it was over Dean looked at her, still inside of her, with a horrified, disgusted look on his face._

_"What is wrong with you Sam?" he yelled, pulling out of her and jerking away. Sam could feel tears on her cheeks as Dean grabbed his clothes, horrible words spewing from his mouth, calling her_ slut _and_ disgusting _and_ sick _. She pulled her shirt down, and the blankets to her chest, feeling Dean's come leaking from her as she sat up and watched as he left, slamming the door behind him._

 

* * *

 

Dean was trying to figure out what woke him. It was dark, but there was a faint light coming through the dingy curtains. He rolled over to see Sam, tossing and turning, whimpering, and muttering his name.

He shook her shoulder, trying to wake her up, but she just started crying in her sleep.

He shook her harder, and pulled her close to him.

"Sam! _Sam!_ " he shouted.

Sam finally opened her eyes. Dean had her by both shoulders, and when she saw him she tried to jerk out of his grip. She looked terrified and there were inky streaks running down her face from the makeup she'd come home wearing earlier.

He kept his grip on her and started to tell her it was just a nightmare when Sam shouted—

"Christo!"

Ah. Dean understood now why she'd been struggling against him.

"Sam, it's me, it was just a nightmare. I'm here."

At that, Sam gave this horrible gasping sob and started crying into his collarbone, her arms pressed against his chest, fists clenched tightly in his shirt. Dean put his arms around her, petting her hair and murmuring what he hoped were encouraging words to her.

Finally Sam cried herself to sleep, but Dean stayed awake until the sun rose and filled the room with gold light.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam has a dream that she and Dean are having consensual, first-time sex, and then it turns out Dean was possessed and is very much not okay with Sam's feelings for him, or having sex with her. He says awful things to her and leaves, and then Sam wakes up.
> 
> On a lighter note, the shorts Sam wears to bed are absolutely Dick Me Down™ shorts, although Sam has no idea that that's what they're called.
> 
> Also, the next chapter might not be up until Sunday!


	10. There Was A Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam meets someone new. She and Dean share a first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I almost made it by Sunday! Sorry for the delay. It's another long one, maybe the longest yet, so hopefully that makes up for the wait. Also please note that the rating has been changed to explicit! It's late and I'm tired, so let me know if there are any typos!

Sam woke up in Dean's arms feeling like shit. She carefully got out of bed, trying not to wake Dean, and made her way to the bathroom. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked like a racoon. All the makeup that Andy had so carefully put on her yesterday was smudged and out of place. She had black tear streaks down her face and the skin under her eyes was ringed with black. She guessed she should have thought to take it all off before bed last night.  
  
She washed her face, but she'd just gotten it clean when the tears started again. Sobs wracked her shoulders as she slid down against the bathroom door, keeping both hands over her mouth to muffle her cries. She didn't want Dean waking up and asking questions.  
  
Sam had had nightmares before where Dean found out how she felt about him. They were always awful, but this had been so much worse. To believe that Dean felt the same, that he loved and wanted her in the same way she had always wanted him, had been exhilarating and wonderful. To find out after having sex with him, that he'd been possessed and horrified the entire time was. It was indescribable. She felt ashamed and humiliated and disgusted with herself. Even if it had all been just a dream, that was exactly what the real Dean would feel if he ever found out about her feelings.  
  
Just then there was a knock on the bathroom door.  
  
"Sammy, you okay in there?" Dean called.  
  
Sam tried to get control of herself. "Fine!" she called, but even she could hear how wet and thick her voice sounded. "Be out in a minute!" She ran the sink and splashed cold water on her face. Her reflection looked hollow to her and pale, so she pinched her cheeks for some color and tried to smile.  
  
She opened the bathroom door and looked at the neck of Dean's shirt and not his eyes. "Sorry," she said," it's all yours," and sidestepped around him.  
  
She went and sat on the bed while Dean was in the bathroom. She had to work in a couple of hours and she didn't want to let a nightmare ruin her morning. She ran her hands through her hair and pulled it into the messy bun Andy had shown her how to do. Then she put on clean shorts, and heard the bathroom door opening as she hurriedly pulled on a sweater she'd bought yesterday with Andy.

 

* * *

  
  
Dean was greeted with Sam's bare back as he left the bathroom, as she was pulling on a sweater. He was going to spontaneously combust. Sam's back was smooth and lightly muscled from all of dad's training, and she and dad had always had a natural tan that he had somehow missed out on. And the shorts she was wearing made her waist seem tiny, which in turn made her hips look wider. The sweater she pulled on looked like someone had taken a pair of scissors to it. The bottom didn't even come down to her naval, and the neck was so wide it was falling off of one bare shoulder.  
  
_That's stupid,_ Dean thought. _What's the point of a sweater that doesn't even cover your stomach? The whole point of a sweater is to keep you warm._  
  
He kept telling himself the sweater was dumb, but his dick was very much on board with Sam's cropped sweater. _I_ have _to rub one out when she goes to work. This is getting ridiculous, I'm so pent up I'm thinking crazy shit about_ Sam _._  
  
He couldn't believe he was ogling Sam when he should have been asking her how she was after that nightmare of hers. Dean couldn't sleep after waking up to that, and he'd had a lot of time to think afterwards.  
  
"Hey Sammy?" he started. "What do you think about getting matching tattoos?"  
  
Sam turned and looked at him like he'd lost his mind and had asked her to marry him or something.  
  
"Why would you want to do that?" she asked flatly.  
  
"Well, I was thinking last night that demons"—Sam flinched—"can't leave or enter a devil's trap, so if we got devil's traps _tattooed_ , we'd never have to worry about getting possessed again."  
  
Sam was lacing her boots and wouldn't look at Dean. "There's no reason for you to get something permanently inked onto your body because I had a nightmare Dean. It happens."  
  
"Yeah but I've got a point don't you think? It wouldn't need to be big or visible, right?" Dean thought this was a really good idea, he'd wanted Sammy to think so too.  
  
Sam looked up at him from where she was still sat on the bed. He could tell she'd been crying, even this morning, and her cheeks had blotchy splashes of color, like she got when she was sick. Whatever she'd dreamed of had her really wrecked. She'd been terrified of _him_ when she woke, and that had been awful, seeing that kind of fear in her eyes directed at him.  
  
"John would kill you if he knew you were thinking about getting a tattoo," Sam said, probably thinking that mention of dad's disapproval would get him to drop it.  
  
But Dean had recently been confronted with the reality of how many ways his dad had fucked up, and this was something that he wanted, both for his peace of mind, and Sam's.  
  
"Yeah well, Dad's an idiot if he thinks it's not a good idea—antiposession charm, right there on your body." Sam raised her eyebrows in further disbelief. "Besides, when did you start caring what dad thought?" he asked her.  
  
Sam sat there looking dumbfounded and finally said, "Okay, I'll think about it."  
  
Dean smiled and sat on the bed next to Sam, putting his arm around her, and pulling at the bun resting on top of her head. Sam swatted him away and he just tugged her into his side by the shoulders. He put his chin on top of her head.  
  
"We're going to be fine here, Sammy," he told her. "Dad won't find us, I'll be able to get a job soon. Everything will be okay." He put his other arm around her and kissed her hair. _I'm going to get over whatever has possessed me to look at you like I have been,_ he thought as he held her close. He wondered if demons could possess someone and just make them _think_ horrible things without ever revealing that they were inside of you. "And if you want to talk about whatever you dreamt last night," he felt Sam stiffen, "I'm here. And if you don't want to talk, I'm still here." He squeezed her one last time and got up to start some breakfast.  
  
Sam sat on the bed for a while while Dean started breakfast. After a minute she went into the bathroom and closed the door. He hoped she said yes to the tattoos. It would help him sleep easier, knowing that even out here, alone, they were taking steps to use what dad taught them to keep themselves safe. Albeit in a way that would have him super pissed. And maybe it would keep her from having a repeat of whatever dream she'd had last night. She didn't seem to want to talk about it, so it must have been particularly bad, and since it involved him, his mind couldn't turn off ideas of what it could have been.  
  
Maybe Sam felt guilty about bringing him here, and she'd dreamed that demon-Dean called her out on it. Maybe he'd said horrible things to her.  
  
He shook his head of those thoughts as Sam came out of the bathroom. She had makeup on again today, but less than she'd had yesterday. Whatever it was made her eyes seem bigger, and her lashes longer, and he couldn't tell that she'd been crying now. But it still pretty much looked like Sam, not the movie star who'd come home to slum it with him yesterday. He was overcome with the urge to kiss her cheek, then thought that that might be weird and went back to cooking breakfast. It was cute when she did it to him, but he felt weird about doing it to her, especially with the gutter that his mind seemed to be stuck in lately.  
  
_Christ, what if her dream had been about him being possessed and_ hurting _her_ , he thought.  
  
He wasn't going to think about this. He was going to ask Sam about the tattoos again, but she beat him to the punch.  
  
"Where would you want to get them?" she asked, moving to sit at the table. "Like, where on your body, not where do you want to go to get them done."  
  
Dean hadn't thought that far ahead. He tried to think of some place that wouldn't often be visible on either of them, and could be easily hidden.  
  
"What about here?" he asked, turning his arm so that his elbow faced behind him and pointed to the skin of his upper arm, which usually faced towards his chest.  
  
Sam considered this and looked at her own upper inner arm.  
  
"Yeah I'd be okay with there," she said.  
  
"So we'll do it?" Dean asked.  
  
"I'll think about it. Tattoos cost money, they take time to heal. Shouldn't we think about this longer than an hour?" she asked.  
  
Dean knew that she was right, but he didn't want to wait. He wanted something they shared, something besides blood, that he could point to and say, _See? We match. Sammy and I are in this together._ He realized that that was a crazy, possessive thought, but he rationalized that it was useful and would protect them, at least from this one thing.  
  
"Let me worry about the money," he told her.  
  
Sam looked unimpressed. "What, you gonna hustle some pool? You're still hurt Dean, you need to be taking it easy."  
  
Dean would have been offended, but that's exactly what he would have done if he hadn't had any money.  
  
"You didn't even check my wallet when you kidnapped me, did you, Sammy?" Sam looked guilty when he used the word _kidnapped_ , but he'd only been joking.  
  
"No, of course not, it's _yours_ ," Sam said.  
  
He didn't point out that she'd had no problem stealing from dad; he understood that her loyalty to him was very different to how she felt about their father. Instead, he pulled out his wallet and found the bills he'd put there a few nights before his last hunt with dad. He pulled them out and showed Sam. "I've got the money to cover them, and when I get back on my feet and get a job, you won't have to worry so much about money, okay?"  
  
"Dean you don't have to—" It didn't matter what Sam had been about to finish that sentence with.  
  
"I want to help, Sam," he said, removing the pan from the burner and moving to sit at the table with Sam. He reached across the table and took her hands. Sam looked surprised.  
  
"I never thanked you for everything you've done since...since that night. And I should have, days ago." Sam looked like she might disagree, but he went on. "No, listen. You stitched me up, you drove five days to get me away from dad, all because you were worried about me. You got us set up here—which I'm not even sure how you did—you cleaned, and got a job, you paid for rent and groceries out of your college fund, and you did it all for me." Dean looked up at Sam from where he'd been staring at the table. She looked shocked. She looked like she might cry again. "As soon as I'm back on my feet I'm going to get a job, I'm going to help out around here. I _want_ to help out around here. None of this should have been on you. It was dad's responsibility to take care of us; when he dropped the ball, you picked up the slack. Hell, you went above and beyond. Thank you Sammy." Her eyes were wet now, but she just nodded, the bun atop her head shaking and nodding with her.  
  
Dean brought one of her hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss to it, and then let them go, moving back to the stove to put their breakfast on plates.

 

* * *

  
  
Sam was quiet throughout breakfast, and she didn't eat much. He wondered if he'd said something wrong, but she'd hugged him, hard, before she left for work, lingering, like she didn't really want to go. That was new because Sam was always excited to go to work.  
  
He usually hated Sam being gone while he was cooped up in here. But he needed some time to think, some time away from her.  
  
He didn't understand why he was feeling this way about her; possessive and attracted, and so full of—of _something_ he felt like his chest might burst open. And whatever it was, he wanted to spend less time thinking about it and more time ignoring it. He'd lived with her his whole life, and all of a sudden her hips widen and she starts dressing like a girl and he can't keep his eyes to himself? His own baby sister! What was _wrong_ with him? He'd changed her diapers, fixed her lunches, made her tomato rice soup when she was sick. _He_ was sick. Sick in the head. He should be shot. She should have let him bleed out in that motel bathroom, instead of dragging him across the country to make sure he was safe from dad and his hunts.  
  
He just needed to get out, find someone new. But he didn't think it would be a good idea, trying to have casual sex with a stranger with his side still bruised and sewn up. He decided to shower and rub one out, maybe that would go a long way towards getting rid of these crazy thoughts.  
  
But when he was in the shower and trying to think of something to get himself off, his brain kept coming back to Sam. He'd try to think of Carrie Fisher and he'd end up thinking about Sam's sleep shorts that were so short he could see the curve of her ass—  
  
He stopped stroking his dick and tried to conjure up an image of Susan Sarandon. But no more had he started touching himself again, than he started remembering Sam's tits in that cutoff sweater, pressing against his chest as she hugged him tightly. Dean groaned, frustrated, leaning his forehead against the cool wall of the shower. He tried to think of any of the last dozen girls he'd been with, and each one reminded him of some part of _Sam_ ; her hair or her eyes or her legs. He moved onto his highlight reel, the craziest, nastiest, hottest things he'd ever done with anyone, but then he just imagined doing those things with Sam.  
  
_That's enough, I'm not doing this_ , Dean thought.  
  
He gripped his dick at the base to stop himself from coming at the thought of doing that shit with _Sam_. His dick throbbed in his hand and he knocked his forehead into the wall again, before reaching for the shower nozzle and turning off the hot water. He shivered as the water got cold, and removed his hand from his dick, feeling achy and jittery from not coming when he'd been so close. He drew the line at masturbating to his little sister. He got clean and got out of the shower, careful not to touch his sensitive dick.

 

* * *

  
  
Sam tried to shake off the dream and the morning she'd had and throw herself into work. She took orders, she smiled when she was supposed to, but she felt like she was on autopilot.  
  
She was on break, eating in the office, thinking about Dean wanting to get matching tattoos. She didn't like it, but part of her wanted something physical to tie them together. She liked the idea of something connecting them to each other. But if Dean ever found out how she felt about him, it would be a reminder of his sick sister, tattooed on him for the rest of his life and she didn't want that for him. It was a good idea though. And holy shit, if he'd been willing to say a bad word about John, he must have seriously wanted to get them. She'd thought that she would drop dead before she heard Dean criticize the man.  
  
He'd even thanked her for stuffing him in the impala and running off with him in the middle of the night. She thought that Dean would begrudge her for taking him away from John without his consent, but he'd _thanked_ her. He was grateful for all of the things that she'd done since they'd gotten to California, instead of thinking they were selfish and dumb. He wanted to _help_ , to contribute to this life she'd tried to make for them. She got this traitorous bubbly feeling in her chest, knowing Dean was willing to give up hunting, to find a nine to five and live a normal life for her.  
  
But her mood soured, thinking of how it could all disappear if he knew how she really felt about him. Maybe she should see someone. Maybe a professional telling her it all just stemmed from abandonment, or daddy issues or something, would help her to get over it.  
  
But her guilt and self pity were interrupted when Andy came in, talking to a waitress Sam had never seen before.  
  
"Hey Eliza! I wondered where you were. Have you met Tori?" Andy gestured to a girl Sam had never seen before. Tori was beautiful, with skin a few shades darker than Sam's, and long hair that fell to her waist. It was wavy and looked like it had been dyed over more than a few times, all different shades of brown and blonde and pink. She was a little shorter than Sam, and had big brown eyes.  
  
"No. Hi, nice to meet you, Tori," Sam smiled. Tori looked her up and down, lingering on Sam's legs—which were crossed at the knee where she sat—and chest before settling on her eyes.  
  
"I like your sweater," Tori said. Sam tried not to gulp. Her mouth was suddenly very dry.  
  
Andy was oblivious, reaching over Sam to grab something from a paper tray. Sam leaned back to get out of Andy's way and tried not to notice Tori checking out her now-exposed midriff. Andy pulled back, apparently finding what she'd been looking for. "Tori here is new, but not as new as you. She started on weekends, but she's moving to days so we'll get to see more of her." Andy looked happy about this, and said "You two will get on great, I just know it." And with that, they both left the office.  
  
Sam thought about Tori so blatantly checking her out. Maybe Sam didn't need therapy, maybe she needed a girlfriend. If she was in a relationship with someone else, maybe she could forget about Dean. She wouldn't jeopardize her job, but she could put out feelers and see if Tori was interested. It's possible that she was attracted to Sam, but was already in a relationship, or she just wasn't really looking right now.  
  
Sam's break was almost up. She finished her lunch and got back to work. She was in a much better mood now, catching looks from Tori out of the corner of her eye every so often. Once or twice Sam offered to help Tori clear her tables when she had a moment to spare. Tori smiled at her and they talked while they worked.  
  
Tori was eighteen, and she was graduating soon. She planned to work all summer and save money for school in the fall. She'd gotten in at a state school a few hours away and wanted to stay on top of her student loans.  
  
"It's crazy, the amount they expect you to pay for classes," Tori said. Sam had looked, she knew college was expensive. And she'd probably never get to go now. But she had everything else she needed, and it didn't sting so much, knowing that she couldn't have that.  
  
"So what about you?" Tori asked, leaning against an empty table and looking up at Sam. "What's your story? Andy told me you just got to town."  
  
"Yeah," Sam said, leaning against the table too, facing Tori, and standing just a bit closer to her than necessary. "Just got here a week ago, I really like it so far."  
  
Tori moved closer still to Sam, putting them firmly in each other's personal space. Tori opened her mouth to say something, but just then Sam saw a customer flagging her down for a refill.  
  
She smiled at Tori apologetically, and went to her table. After that, Tori had customers of her own to deal with, and the lunch rush was truly upon them. When it was over, Sam was clocking out when Tori rushed over to her.  
  
"Hey, I know you're off," Tori eyed Sam's time ticket, "but I'm about to go on break, want to come with to the coffee shop across the street?" Sam had never been inside the coffee place. It had been next on her list of places to apply when she'd gotten hired here.  
  
"Yeah, sure," Sam smiled at Tori, who smiled back, reaching around to untie her apron, and balling it up on the counter.  
  
"Great, come on!" Tori grabbed Sam's hand, much to Sam's surprise, and led her out of the restaurant. They hurried across the street and into the coffee shop. It was quiet, almost empty, and they placed their orders before Tori grabbed Sam's hand again and pulled her into the restroom.  
  
Tori threw her arms around Sam's neck and kissed her, moving them until Sam's back was against the wall. Sam stiffened, surprised. Tori pulled back.  
  
"I'm so sorry, did I misread this? I thought you were interested," Tori said, her arms loosening from around Sam's neck.  
  
"No!" Sam said quickly. "No I am, I was just surprised is all. Isn't this kind of fast?"  
  
Tori grinned at her. "I'm only going to be here for the summer and then I'm off to school; if I wanted to get in your pants I figured I'd have to move kind of quickly." Sam laughed, not pointing out that she would inevitably be leaving town long before Tori.  
  
When Sam didn't reply, Tori kissed her again quickly, before pulling back and asking, "So is this okay?" Sam nodded and started to say yes, before Tori's hand moved to the waistband of Sam's shorts, before bypassing the button and zipper entirely and just groping at Sam through the fabric. Sam gasped and Tori kissed her again.  
  
Sam was rocking into Tori's hand, when she pulled away from kissing Sam. Sam tried to follow, until she noticed Tori was kneeling between Sam's legs. Sam felt her face getting hot as Tori looked up at her, silently asking for permission as she reached up to unbutton Sam's jeans.  
  
Sam didn't know what to do with her hands, but Tori grabbed them and put them on her head as she pulled down Sam's shorts and underwear. Was Sam really about to get eaten out for the first time in a coffee shop, in the middle of the day, with a _coworker_ she just met? Before she could feel bad about any of those things though, Tori was licking Sam's cunt.  
  
Sam threw a hand over her mouth and tried not to let out the whine sitting in her throat. It was the most incredible thing she'd ever felt. Tori's tongue was hot and wet and she knew exactly how to use it. Tori reached up and grabbed Sam's tit, stroking over her nipple, and pulling just slightly, in a way that felt insanely good. Sam was breathing so heavily through her nose that she thought she might pass out, one hand stopping her from making enough noise that the shop employees would come looking, and the other in Tori's hair, trying not to pull.  
  
Right before Sam was about to come, Tori gently pushed a finger inside of her, and crooked her fingers in a way that had Sam clenching and coming harder than she ever had before. Tori kept licking her until Sam came down, stopping just before she got too sensitive. She wiped her mouth, somehow seeming ladylike during such a lewd gesture.  
  
Sam pulled her up and kissed her, hands in Tori's hair, and turned them so that Tori's back was against the wall.  
  
"I-I've never—but I want to," Sam stammered. Tori raised her eyebrows and Sam remembered that Tori had every reason to believe that Sam was eighteen.  
  
"I'll tell you what to do if you need any help," Tori said, as Sam knelt down to her knees.  
  
Sam undid Tori's shorts and pulled her underwear down. She smelled heady and feminine, and all of a sudden Sam couldn't wait to get her mouth on Tori. She started licking, like Tori had, and looked up at her to see if she was doing it right. Tori's eyes looked glazed, and she nodded at Sam before closing them and leaning her head back against the wall.  
  
Sam's tongue started to hurt after a few minutes, but Tori was really into this and Sam didn't want to stop. She moved a finger to Tori's cunt and rubbed back and forth along the opening there, before carefully pressing inside. She felt Tori squeeze, putting so much pressure on Sam's finger, and holy shit, no wonder guys lost their minds about being inside a woman if it felt like this. And Sam only had a _finger_ inside. She kept licking at Tori, until she got the bright idea to suck her clit into her mouth and Tori moaned, before jerking her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. Sam felt a jolt of pride at that, and sucked harder, flicking with her tongue at the same time, feeling Tori spasm repeatedly around Sam's finger as she came.  
  
Tori panted, open mouthed as she recovered from her orgasm. She pulled Sam up and kissed her, hard and slow. Sam tried to pull away, to say their drinks were probably ready, but Tori just kept pulling her back in and kissing her.  
  
Finally she stopped and opened her eyes, looking at Sam like she'd been drugged. "That was a hell of a first time," Tori said. "You're a natural, Eliza."  
  
Sam beamed at her. She felt amazing, knowing she could make someone feel like that, look like that. She felt giddy. She kissed Tori one more time before they made themselves presentable and left the bathroom.  
  
Their drinks were still warm, and actually the perfect temperature for drinking, and they sipped them as they made their way back across the street. Tori's break ended in a few minutes, and she kissed Sam one more time before heading back inside, smiling at Sam as she walked away.  
  
Sam turned to walk home, feeling much lighter than she had all morning.

 

* * *

  
  
When Sam got home, Dean wasn't in the apartment. She freaked a little bit, but just as she decided he was probably on the roof, the door opened. Dean was carrying a laundry basket full of clean clothes.  
  
"Heya Sammy," Dean said, kicking the door closed. "I saw you through the window of the laundromat, you seemed happy. What were you smiling about?"  
  
Sam flushed, thinking about Tori, and what Dean would say if he knew she'd eaten out her female coworker in a public bathroom.  
  
"Nothing," Sam squeaked, which only caused Dean to look at her more closely from where he'd sat the laundry basket on the table.  
  
"Yeah?" Dean sounded like he didn't believe a word. "Then what's that?" he asked, pointing to her face and starting to fold their clothes.  
  
"What?" Sam wiped her mouth. She _knew_ she'd looked in the mirror before leaving that bathroom, and that there was nothing to point to what she'd done, but she couldn't keep her hands from trying to feel for evidence.  
  
"Your face is all red, that's what," Dean said, eying her suspiciously. "Is it something embarrassing? Did you meet someone at work?" Dean raised his eyebrows. "Did you meet a boy?"  
  
"No, there is no _boy_ ," Sam said truthfully. Dean looked less like he was going to have to hit someone, but more like he was going to keep asking questions, so she got there first. "And what are you doing out of the apartment, you should be resting, not doing laundry," she chastised, shooing him away and starting to fold them herself.  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. "I've been 'resting' for over a week, I'm tired of rest."  
  
"Well that doesn't mean you don't need it," Sam said, glad the subject was off of her.  
  
Dean made a face, but went to sit on the bed, legs stretched out and ankles crossed.  
  
"So did you think anymore about those tattoos?" Dean asked.  
  
Sam folded clothes as she thought for a moment. "Yes, and I do think the devil's trap is a really good idea, but do you _want_ to?" she asked. She would go with it if he said yes, but she wanted to be sure that it was something he _wanted_ , not just something he was doing for _her_.  
  
"Yeah of course, Sammy," Dean said. "Wouldn't have offered if I hadn't been sure."  
  
Sam kept folding laundry. "Then yes. Yes, we should get them."  
  
"Great, 'cause I scoped out the only tattoo parlor in town while I was waiting for the clothes to finish, anddd," Dean looked at his watch, "they're still open. We can go right now." He looked at her with his eyebrows raised.  
  
"Where's the fire?" Sam asked. She'd agreed to get them, she didn't see why they had to go right _now_.  
  
"Hey, I've never gotten a tattoo before, I'm allowed to be excited," Dean said, getting up and taking the laundry out of her hands. Sam went and changed out of her sweater and into a tank top so that her arm would be easily accessible, with one of Dean's old flannels over top since it was still chilly outside.  
  
And that was how Sam ended up in a tattoo parlor at seven o'clock on a Friday night, getting a matching tattoo with her brother.  
  
Dean had gotten her a fake ID when she turned sixteen, a good one, so the tattoo artist didn't bat an eye. They signed a few papers and the artist, a woman named Suzy, drew something up that they both liked. It was a five pointed star, surrounded by a circle, fairly minimal looking, and a little bigger than a silver dollar.  
  
"Ladies first?" asked Suzy. Sam nodded, and sat down.  
  
"Lots of couples come in asking for matching tattoos," Suzy said, dipping her needle gun in the ink and letting it whir for a second before dipping it again, "but this is a new one for me." She gestured at the purple outline she'd put on Sam's arm.  
  
Sam flushed and didn't know what to say; whether to insist that she and Dean weren't a couple, or to let the woman think what she wanted.  
  
Dean didn't say anything either, either expecting Sam to answer, or deciding it _was_ best to let Suzy draw her own conclusions. He was busy staring at the purple outline, watching as Suzy placed her gun up to Sam's inner arm.  
  
Suzy laughted. "Okay, keep your secrets, you two. This your first one?" she asked Sam.  
  
Sam nodded again.  
  
"And you, dollface?" Suzy asked, turning her head over her shoulder to look at Dean.  
  
Dean spluttered, but Sam laughed and said, "Yeah, his too."  
  
"Ah, I get to pop two cherries tonight," Suzy grinned at them. Sam liked her. "Well squeeze his hand if you want, and let me know if you need me to stop."  
  
Dean moved to Sam's other side without her having to ask, and held her hand.  
  
And then Suzy started tattooing. Sam gripped Dean's hand harder, but it really wasn't that bad. It felt a bit like scratching a sunburn, or getting stung by a bee, except it didn't stop. Dean was looking at her and she smiled at him. Suzy whistled while she worked, and she listened to classic rock, Dean's favorite. It took less than half an hour and then Sam had a new tattoo.

 

* * *

  
  
Watching Sam getting tattooed was a strange experience for Dean. He liked knowing that Sam was kind of doing this for him, but he was uncomfortable with his own motivations for it. Was he rushing her into this so she wouldn't change her mind? Did this have something to do with the...strange way he'd been thinking about her recently? He wished she would hold his hand tighter. He wanted her to crush it, to grind down his bones. He wanted someone to hurt him for the things he'd thought about Sam. He wanted Sam to never find out, but he also thought that she should know, so that she would want to be far away from him. Maybe he knew that's how this would end, and he wanted something—a tattoo—to keep them together. He didn't know how he could stay away from her when this whole time away from dad, had been about them building a life together. She was his whole world, from the day she was born and he didn't think he could leave her, didn't think he could _make_ himself. Maybe she would have a reason to leave him one day, and he'd have to be steadfast in letting her go.  
  
When Suzy was done, she wiped away the blood and ink and told Sam where the bathroom was so that she could go take a better look than with the handheld mirror that Suzy had. Sam went, careful not to let her arm touch anything.  
  
"Want me to use the same needle?" Suzy asked him while Sam was in the bathroom.  
  
"What?" he asked, not sure what the significance of that was.  
  
"Traditional marriage tattoos, folks would use the same needle," Suzy said. "It's super illegal nowadays, but guys go all in for it. Think it's romantic or something. I tend to ask while the girl's out of the room, they usually think it's dangerous and stupid— and they're right—but I thought I'd give you the option."  
  
Dean thought about HIV and hepatitis, and all of the things that people used to worry about catching from tattoo places before there were health codes in place to prevent that sort of thing. Health codes that were supposed to keep things like _using the same needle on more than one person_ from happening.  
  
"I only offer because if you're getting matching tattoos it's serious, and if you're sleeping with her without protection, you can catch anything she might have anyway. Up to you," she said.  
  
This woman had already made comments about them being a couple—but talking so casually about him sleeping with Sam, and talking about marriage and using the same needle she'd used on Sam—it made all the breath leave his body.  
  
"Yes," he said, before he could stop himself, and moved into the chair, pulling his sleeve out of the way. Suzy looked at him like she might ask him if he was sure, but then Sam was back.  
  
She was grinning. "I love it," she said, holding it out for them to see.  
  
Suzy beamed. "Good, just let me wrap it up and we'll get your boy done."  
  
She wrapped Sam's arm, and Sam moved to stand next to Dean, putting her hand in his. Dean saw Suzy very deliberately _not_ change the needle, but Sam didn't seem to notice. Good. He didn't want to have to explain to his sister why he'd agreed to a _marriage tattoo_ of sorts.  
  
He didn't even want to think too hard about why he'd said yes. He was pretty sure Sammy didn't have anything for him to catch, but it was still idiotic to say yes to something like this. No one would know but him, him and this woman they would likely never see again.  
  
But then he stopped thinking about it because Suzy started up the gun. He realized why Sam hadn't reacted much, or squeezed his hand harder; they'd both had way worse. Sam smiled at him and stroked her thumb over his hand, repeatedly, and that was all he could think of until Suzy was done.  
  
When she was finished, she wrapped Dean's arm, and told them both how to care for the new tattoos. Dean thanked her and left her twice the average tip. He knew she could get in a lot of trouble for doing what she'd done, but she'd given him the choice anyway. He felt like he had this little part of Sam that no one knew about and he didn't want the feeling to fade.  
  
He took Sam to get an ice cream cone a few doors down. Sam made a face, like he was trying to bribe her with candy or something after taking her to the doctor for shots, but she also wasn't above free ice cream. He put his arm around her while they were in line and paid for her ice cream, and for a second he let himself believe that they were any other couple, out on a date after getting matching tattoos.  
  
He quickly felt guilty for the thought, but Sam leaned over and licked his ice cream, grinning at him, and he didn't have time to get maudlin because he was busy shooing her back to her own ice cream.  
  
They walked back to the apartment as they ate, the ice cream turning into a dripping mess before they could get inside, and they laughed and washed off at the sink. Sam missed a bit, right by her lip, and Dean had to stop himself before he leaned in and licked it off of her. She wiped her face again and it was gone in a moment anyway. He should never have let himself think about _Sam_ like a date.  
  
They hadn't had dinner, but neither of them were hungry after the ice cream, so they washed their new tattoos like Suzy had told them to, and sat down to watch a movie. Sam fell asleep not long into it, something that was becoming a habit, and Dean wasn't interested enough in it to keep watching, so he turned it off and tucked his nose into Sam's hair, falling asleep not long after.

 

* * *

  
  
Dean woke up on his stomach, his arm hurting from the tattoo, and his dick throbbing against the sheets. He was still thrusting against the bed, caught up in a dream about Sam. In it, he'd been sat back against the wall in this very bed, and Sam had been naked in his lap, grinding into him. She wasn't lifting off enough for it to really be considered thrusting, and he'd had to just sit there and take it. She'd had his face in her hands and was kissing him, and his hands were all over her, her hard nipples pressing against his chest as he—  
  
He had to _stop_ thinking about this. For one thing, he was about to come. And for another, this was _Sam_. He stopped thrusting and rolled onto his back, trying to keep his hips from moving. He looked over to make sure that Sam wasn't awake. It was still dark, and she was still asleep, a tangle of hair covering part of her face. Dad had always made her keep it shoulder length or shorter, and now that he wasn't around to make her cut it, it was growing out. He liked it, wondered how long she would let it get.  
  
He looked down at his dick, feeling betrayed. He tried to go back to sleep, hoping that he wouldn't dream of Sam again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was anyone waiting for this chapter? Are people happy with the direction this is going? Did it take any turns that you weren't expecting? Are there requests of things that you want to see happen? I'd love to know if anyone actually reads this, haha.


End file.
